


Ain't It Fun

by jemejem



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, PLEASE READ MY DISCLAIMERS, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Scars, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, no srsly a lot of issues, with lots of issues!!, young boys!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemejem/pseuds/jemejem
Summary: Neil can't sleep. Andrew can't feel. High school is going well for the both of them.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is going to be a story with detailed descriptions of panic attacks, anxiety attacks and depressive episodes, with flashbacks, descriptions of physical state whilst panicking, detailed thought processes and mentions of self harm, scars and suicide. Be gentle with yourself and take care when reading. Love, Jemejem.

Andrew decided to do some good. 

Being the five-foot, angsty menace that he was, this was a rare occasion. However, he understood the maelstrom of emotion in the piercing blue eyes, the anxiety of being watched by students passing around this certain corner, the constant battle between needing help and denying that whatever the fuck was happening wasn’t real and that others had it worse. 

“She’s a nutcase.”

The boy looked up, startled. He was almost frightened, but Andrew understood that he’d come out of the blue. His eyes were really fucking blue. His hair was a mess of curls, uneven brown, like hair-dye. Yeah, definitely dye. He could see a lighter colour at the roots. The scars on his face were impressive, most certainly not done to him by himself, and all of a sudden Andrew’s pathetically gay brain screamed _interesting!!!!!_ “What?”

“You’re better off going to the free service in Columbia. This school counsellor won’t help you: She doesn’t help anyone.”

The boy glanced nervously towards the door. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that she’s a shit psychologist. Do you want the number of the place in Columbia? They have psychologists and psychiatrists who actually completed their degrees.”

Andrew didn’t understand why he was hesitating. Was it because he was Palmetto High’s notorious pain in the ass? Andrew was sure he’d never seen this boy before, anyway. He had to be new: He must only have heard the rumours. 

“Come on.” He tugged on the boy’s long-sleeve, careful not to touch his arm. It wasn’t hard, being that his clothes were four times too big, and his arms had the scrawny nature of someone malnourished. Andrew remembered looking like that. The boy stumbled after him as they ran down the stairs and out of the building. Andrew stopped behind the cafeteria. 

He was no longer scared, but apprehensive. He tugged his sleeve out of Andrew’s grip and circled his arms around his stomach. 

Andrew nicks a pen from the diary in the front pocket of his bag and gestures to the boy’s arm. He looks as his hands: They’re calloused and scarred as well. 

“Well shit.” Andrew remarked. “And you’re only seeking help now?”

He pulled his sleeves over his hands. “Wasn’t allowed to.”

“Who are you?”

“Neil Josten. Sophomore.”

“Are you new?”

He nodded again. 

“Thought so. Listen: You might have no idea who I am, or too many ideas, but there’s a fair few of us who are pretty fucked up here.” He tapped his head. “I don’t know what kind of issues you have going on, but that counsellor isn’t going to help you. Almost everyone I know goes to the practise in Columbia, because they’re good. Except Reynolds, but she has a rich father forking it out for her. All their funds come from fundraising and donation, so it’s not a cent out of your pocket. Sounds too good to be true, right?”

Neil shrugged. “I don’t know what’s appropriate.”

Andrew mirrored his shrug. “You’ll figure it out. D’you want me to program the number into your phone?”

Neil shook his head. “Don’t have one.”

Andrew was almost surprised: Then he remembered that nothing really surprises him, and that Neil’s sort definitely wouldn’t have a phone. Trailer trash? Homeless? Andrew couldn’t quite pin it, but he had definitely gone through the wringer a handful of times. 

He scrawled the number on a corner he ripped out from his diary and Neil folded it up carefully and put it in his pocket. “Thanks. I guess.”

“Don’t thank me now, when you haven’t got any of the benefits yet. That just doesn’t make sense.” Andrew saluted him. “Have fun.”

Neil muttered something under his breath. Andrew wasn’t really bothered to hang around and take the chance whether or not he’d repeat it any louder, so he left for his next class, leaving Neil with piece of paper burning in his pocket and a fear of being so blatantly transparent. 

*

Neil sat on in the arm chair instead of the couch: He didn’t like how the cushions were so neatly placed. Everything was pretty neat in here. He imagined clutter might make some anxious: Maybe this Dr Dobson dealt with a lot of OCD patients. The impeccable placement of every decoration, however, put Neil on edge. 

His father’s study had always been neat and orderly: By default, Neil always pinned secrecy to neatness. If Neil ever disrupted his father’s order, he’d be beat black-and-blue. This meant Neil was incredibly anal about restoring whatever he used to its’ original state, or not going near anyone else’s shit whatsoever. Avoiding was better than meddling and fixing. Precaution and prevention was better than cure. All that shit. 

The psychologist ducked into the room and closed the door, sighing in relief. She turned to Neil and smiled. “I love my coworkers, but we’re on a tight schedule. Just narrowly missed a lengthy conversation. Wouldn’t want to be late, would I?” She sat on the edge of the couch but extended her hand over the coffee table between them. Neil took her hand out of obligation. “I’m Betsy Dobson. Dr Dobson, Betsy, Dobson, Bee, Bitch, Ms Psych Lady, I don’t mind. Whatever makes you comfortable.” 

Neil swallowed and nodded. 

Apparently, a lot of her clients had graduated last year, and she specialised in high schoolers. Neil was lucky to have got a slot so quickly with her, or with any of them, but she’d had enough vacancies to make him a weekly thing. 

She smiled and took the clipboard. “You’ve already filled out all the consent forms and agreements, which is excellent. I’ve also already looked at your brief reasoning for why you’re coming here, and I have to say that it is very brief. I assume you’re going to talk it all out instead. Writing it down is a little too real, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” Neil said, and it was the first thing he’d said since his conversation with Andrew yesterday. He hadn’t offered any opinions in his classes — As usual. And Stuart wasn’t home when he got there — Also common. His voice was croaky at a result. “I’m not good at talking.”

“We’ll figure out a method that’s comfortable for you to convey information to me, don’t worry. You’ve stated three things: You get a lot of a nightmares and can’t sleep, you are worried that will affect your grades, and you think you’re overly paranoid.” Betsy put the clipboard down and clasped her fingers together. “I’m going to say this outright, because you strike me as someone who appreciates honesty. I can see disfigurement on your hands and face. I don’t need you to tell me who it was, but I’m guessing it was a traumatic event. That event, or however long the string of violence occurred, is haunting your subconscious. Yes?”

Neil nodded. 

“This is normal.” Betsy promised. “Human brains are influenced by anything and everything. They hold onto small moments we didn’t think they would and they bring back things we want to forget. Are you willing to try and communicate with me in order to work with your brain’s behavioural patterns?”

Neil nodded again. 

“This will mean we’re going to talk about traumatic events and your past.”

Neil tensed reflexively. 

“Not today.” Betsy promised. “You don’t trust me and you don’t know me. I can tell that we need to build a relationship of trust before you are okay with telling me anything.”

“Yes.” Neil managed. “I’ve been described as having trust issues.”

“To what level did this person describe them as?”

“Serious ones.”

Betsy laughed a little and nodded. “Who was this?”

“My uncle. He’s the only family I have left.”

“Do you live with him?”

“Yes.”

“What does he do, Neil?”

He was a gang member. He killed Neil’s father, trying to rescue his sister, but Mary died and Neil lived, and now Stuart lived with the constant reminder of his failure. “He’s a mechanic.” 

“Have you always lived with him?”

“Only for six months or so. We only moved to Palmetto in August.” Two months ago. After all the shit with his parents, his uncle set him up with a new name and a chance at living out the rest of his teenage years with a little bit of normalcy. They couldn’t have gone back with the Hatfords: Stuart was rejected for trying to rescue his outcasted sister. Neil didn’t want anything to do with that family anyway. 

“How are you enjoying South Carolina?”

“It’s warm.”

Betsy smiled. “It’ll cool down soon.”

Hopefully. 

She asked mundane things. School, classes, did he have any friends? Did he like any sports or do any hobbies? No friends, he said. He likes Exy. Stuart wants him to go to college with a sports scholarship. He used to live in Baltimore: He can drive. He likes the colour gray, even though it isn’t a colour. He doesn’t own a phone or a laptop. He doesn’t see the need for either. He liked drawing: He liked worrying, and worrying about his worrying, and worrying that worrying about his worrying was fucking with his head. Which it was. 

“Neil,” Neil was standing. The hour had ended. Betsy held out one hand in hesitation. “I have to ask. Are you safe?”

Neil wrapped his arms around himself. Technically, he was. His father was dead. He wasn’t going to come out of his grave, even if Neil was convinced that his hatred for his failure of a son was potent enough. “Uncle Stuart wouldn’t hurt me.” That was true. He was Mary’s son, and Stuart wasn’t an unnecessarily violent man. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Betsy promised. “But I also meant from yourself. Between this session and the next, do you fear you’ll hurt yourself, even take it to the extent of suicide?”

Neil shook his head. 

Betsy nodded. “I’ll see you next week, Neil.”

Neil left. 

He must have been considerably shaken when he got home, because Stuart gently held his shoulder. “You alright, Nate?”

Neil hated that Stuart called him that. “Fine.”

“You had that therapy session, didn’t you?”

Neil nodded, shouldering past him to the kitchen. 

“How’d it go?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Stuart nodded slowly. “Well, why don’t you have a shower. I bought more dye: We’ll do it after dinner.”

Neil swallowed and unpacked his schoolbag onto his end of the dinner table: It was a long, thin one. They ate opposite each other in the middle, and Stuart’s study was at one end, Neil’s at the other. The rest of the house was a mix and match of antiques and simply out-dated furniture. Stuart liked fixing things that were beyond repair. Neil was convinced it was why he’d taken Neil in. 

There was only the kitchen and dining room, living room, Neil’s room and Stuart’s. The bathroom was between their bedrooms, the washing machine and dryer crammed in there too. The mirror has a towel draped over it: That was for Neil, and Neil was grateful. 

Stuart described Neil as a puzzle where all the pieces have been hacked at, bent, warped and disfigured, and they remotely fit together but they’re very close to falling apart. Stuart likes metaphors: He said that the sticky tape holding them together won’t always stick, and that it’s time to straighten out the pieces, one by one. 

Nate, Nate, with issues so great. 

Neil sat at the dinner table and finished his maths homework as Stuart steamed vegetables and stirred mac-and-cheese. It was a quiet night on Perimeter Avenue, coming off one of Palmetto’s main drives, Perimeter Road. 

And yet, when Neil got into bed, sleep was the furthest thing from his grasp. He laid there for half an hour until the whispering in the back of his head was too much to bear, grabbing his English text and settling down with that instead. 

*

He’d never seen Neil until two days ago, but now Andrew was seeing him every where. Walking out of gym class still in his gym gear, disappearing into this roll-call class, lining up for food in the cafeteria. 

Andrew wanted to know if he’d taken Andrew’s advice, but he wasn’t going to sidle up to the human embodiment of paranoia and make friendly conversation about therapy. Andrew didn’t do friendly conversation. And the last thing he wanted to talk about was therapy. 

He finally realised a solution when he saw Kevin and Neil walking together, which he was so sure he’d never seen before, but their mannerisms were more relaxed than they were with anyone else, and they looked to be arguing about something they’ve argued about before. 

“Kevin.” Andrew crossed his arms and waited by his locker. Kevin paused and looked over his shoulder to glare at Andrew. 

The two of them were at an impasse. Andrew dropped off the Exy team when Kevin joined after transferring from Evermore Academics, purely out of spite. He trained with Kevin when he felt like it, just to keep Kevin hooked on the idea that he’d join the team again. 

He glanced at Neil, who was shrinking back a little. “Neil.”

Kevin glanced at Neil. “You know Neil?”

“You know Kevin?” Neil asked Andrew. 

“I can’t believe you haven’t realised this in our long lasting friendship, Neil.”

Neil scowled, unappreciative of the sarcasm. “Funny.”

“I know.” Andrew deadpanned. “I’m hilarious. Kevin, let’s go.” 

Neil was left stood alone and looking lost when Andrew dragged Kevin away. 

“What’s your deal?” Kevin asked. “And how long have you known Neil?”

“Since Tuesday.”

“Oh.”

“Kevin, you’re so thick sometimes.”

Kevin punched him weakly in the shoulder. “Fuck you.” 

They were unlikely friends who, for the most part, hated each other. Unsurprising: Andrew hated everyone. Kevin and his pretty face was no exception. 

Renee latched on, walking beside Andrew. Andrew didn’t pay her any mind: She still smiled. “Hey.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “What do you want.”

“Nothing?” She said innocently. “Just to say hello.”

“You said hello to me this morning.”

“To involve myself in whatever riveting conversation the two of you were having, or start one.” She looked at them pointedly as they walked, little silver crosses hanging from her earlobes. “Kevin, I know.”

Kevin looked stricken. “When did Wymack tell you?”

Renee shook her head. “I caught him before school. He’s breaking it to rest of the team at practise this afternoon. I’m going to visit her after, before they move her off.”

Andrew pieced two and two together. “Janie Smalls is in hospital.”

“Don’t spread it, Andrew.” Renee warned. 

He looked at Kevin. “That’s why you were arguing with Neil before. You want him to join the team.” 

Kevin sighed. “Well, we only have one functioning goalie—“ Renee beamed. “—And only two strikers, now. We’re so fucked for the season. Neil still refuses to join the damn team.” 

“Interesting.” Andrew’s odd spark of intrigue started and stopped with Neil. 

“We could introduce him to the team?” Renee offered. “Maybe he’d be more comfortable trying out if he knew the rest of us?”

“Special circumstances.” Kevin argued. “He’d prefer an even playing field and earn his position. I think Wymack should hold try-outs for the senior team instead of just drifting them up from the junior team. Then we could try and get some fresher meat and some reserves, don’t you think?”

Renee and Kevin argued across him. Andrew tried to convince himself he couldn’t care less about a brown-haired, blue-eyed fuck up. It worked. 

Mostly.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Andrew had pastel coloured hair that is constantly shifting, wears black turtle-neck sweaters, ripped black skinny jeans, white adidas sneakers and has round, hipster glasses but only wears them at home.)

Neil walked out of the school grounds feelings on edge. He disliked it, being unable to pin the source of his paranoia. Was it the student body around him who were relieved that it was a Friday? The assignments he was not behind on but still felt he owed panic to them all the same? The exhaustion that crept in towards the end of each school day, loosening all his inhibitions? 

A car skidded to a stop merely a hairline away from Neil’s feet. He sucked in a sharp breathe and held onto it: Andrew Minyard was behind the wheel and he rolled down the window to squint up at Neil. 

Between the Tuesday on which Andrew had told him to go to Columbia rather than the school counsellor and now, Neil had heard more rumours about Andrew Minyard and his lot that Neil wished to. Andrew _had_ been to juvy: That was no rumour. Why, however, was completely up to personal interpretation. 

People speculated why he quit the Exy team when he would have gone to college on an Exy scholarship: They wondered why he dyed his hair an array of pastel colours. They accused him of cheating on tests when his grades were above theirs with a considerably wide margin, considering he never participated and made an effort to skip as many classes he could. Some said he smoked, some said his water flask was full of whisky. Some said he was on drugs. 

Some said he killed his mother. 

Neil wasn’t going to listen to whispers in the wind. It did make him wary, though. 

_What doesn’t, these days?_

Neil almost scowled at himself.

“Get in.” Andrew sounded bored to death. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why should I come with you? I don’t know you. I don’t want to.” 

Andrew hummed. “You’re blocking the exit.”

Neil almost growled and felt a spark of anger in his stomach as he pulled the back door of the car open and slid inside. There were two lighters in the back. His stomach rolled with the reminder of _cars_ and _lighters_ , but that confirmed one thing: Andrew smoked. 

Neil was only getting in this car because he wanted to deal with Andrew immediately. Get him off Neil’s back, and he’d have one less thing to worry about. He didn’t need the town’s resident psycho kid messing him around when all he wanted was to finish high school and go to college.

Andrew’s expression when he glanced at Neil in the rear-view mirror was kind of haunting. It was almost— _hollowed out._

“Where’s your place?”

“I don’t need you knowing where I live.” Neil said. “Pull over and say whatever you want to say and I’ll walk from there.”

“And if I drop you five miles out of Palmetto?” 

Neil shrugged. “I’ll go for a run.”

“God, you’re strange.” Andrew muttered. 

Neil felt like he should have been more offended. He’d kind of accepted he was odd, even without his multitude of issues. 

Andrew pulled into the carpark of a children’s playground, got out and rounded to the front of his car to sit on the hood. Neil grumbled and followed before Andrew could lock him inside. 

He had a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He didn’t offer Neil one but didn’t seem surprised when Neil took it from unresisting fingers. He looked at Neil as he let it almost burn out repeatedly, only taking a drag to nurse it back to life. Eventually he got bored of watching Neil’s odd smoking habits and lit his own. 

“This town isn’t big enough for secrets to stay hidden for too long, you know.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Andrew shrugged. “Maybe. How was therapy?”

“Why do you care?”

“Don’t mistake it for caring.”

Neil didn’t know what else it was meant to be. He shrugged. “It was fine.”

“Who do you have?”

“If I refuse to tell you, will you just go force it out of someone else?”

“It’s like you already know me, Neil.”

Neil didn’t want to know Andrew. He wanted anything but. “What do you want?”

“I heard Kevin wants you on the Exy team.” Andrew blew out the smoke in small puffs. “He’s annoyingly persistent, isn’t he.”

“I can’t really play.” Neil murmured, the same old lie he was told to say every time someone asked. It was habit. It grated on his nerves. But he couldn’t let go of his mother’s ghost, no matter what he did. 

“You’re lying.”

Neil shrugged. “I haven’t played since I was little.”

“Still lying.” Andrew put his left foot up on the hood, hooked his left arm around it and took another drag. Neil was struck with a sudden similarity: Andrew seemed old for the pimpled face and youth-like structure of his bones. 

Neil felt that too. Like he was too old, had seen too many things and fell on too many hardships, when he was only 16. 

He tried to shake the odd sense of comfort that discovering this familiarity brought, but he couldn’t. 

“Why are you staring at me.” Andrew muttered, drawing both legs into a ball. Neil glanced away. 

“I don’t want to play on a team.” 

“Why not?”

“Because I have high standards for myself and I think I’ll fall short?” Neil arched one eyebrow. “Tit for tat? Why aren’t you on the team?”

“Because Kevin basically runs it. Or likes to think he does.” Andrew coughed a little, though Neil suspected it was purely theatrical. “He pisses me off with his enthusiasm and his one-track mind.”

“But aren’t you friends with him?”

“I have no friends.” 

Neil snorted. “Alright, edge-lord.”

Andrew glared at him. “It’s not like you can comment.”

Neil shrugged again. He didn’t realise how often he did it till this conversation, where there were a lot of pauses between each sentence. “I’m just the new kid. Nothing special.”

“No,” Andrew agreed, eyeing Neil’s threadbare boots and jeans, his big long-sleeve and the backpack which he hadn’t let stay in the car alone. If Andrew asked, Neil would say he assumed he was just going to walk straight home. He had no idea how to get there, but he’d find his way eventually. 

Andrew didn’t ask. He didn’t say anything for a while, actually. Neil’s internal monologue began to awaken and the speed at which his thoughts rapid fired increased. He tried to breathe deeply without Andrew noticing, but it was getting shakier with every exhale.

“Mess around with me.” Andrew said. 

Neil held onto his breath. Andrew couldn’t possibly mean _that_. “What?”

“Exy.” Andrew flicked the remnants of his cigarette onto the ground and took Neil’s to smoke the remainder. “I’m a goalie. Doesn’t matter if you’re a dealer, striker or backliner, you still have to deal with the goalies one way or another. I’ll fuck around with you on our courts after-hours. If you’re willing.” He added at the end. 

“Striker.” Neil said quietly. That was true. Mostly. He’d played backliner more and preferred it less. 

Andrew shrugged. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Neil’s mother was _screaming_ at him. “When?”

“There’s a game in three weeks, so they’ll be pretty busy from Monday onwards. How about the Lord’s day?”

“You’re religious?” Neil asked, apprehensive. It didn’t seem like someone like Andrew would have much faith. 

Andrew snorted. “I just like spiting him on _his_ day. Doing criminal things, you know. Crime and sin. We’ll have to break into the court.” He rose his eyebrows: A challenge. “Too scared?”

Neil shook his head. 

“Didn’t think you’d be.” Andrew hopped off his car. Neil followed. “See you Sunday afternoon, then.” 

Against his own volition, he said: “See you.” He watched Andrew slide into the driver’s seat, rev the unreliable sounding engine to life and swing out of the lot.

Neil turned and started on his way home. It was an awfully long walk. And an awfully long time to think. 

*

Andrew believed Neil’s “I haven’t played since I was little.” less and less as they walked onto the court, Sunday night. He swung the racket idly in his hands, even though it wasn’t his. He spun the ball in his hand and flicked it in and our of the racket, testing the net. 

“How good are you?” Andrew called out from the box. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Depends on how annoying you are.” Neil said, eyeing his surroundings. He seemed significantly more alive, standing on the wooden floorboards of the court. “I like being sent on at the end to take out everyone I’d decided I disliked.”

“Gutsy.”

Neil shrugged. Andrew was going to get more irritated by that mannerism by the minute. 

He had his old helmet, his gloves, his joint padding and his shoes. He hadn’t bothered with the rest of the armour. Neil bothered with even less, and owned none of it. He had someone’s gloves, racket and shoes. Andrew felt like popping a ball off his head, but Neil probably didn’t need any more issues up there than he already had. 

“Well?” Andrew gestured. 

Neil glower and scooped up a ball in his net. They’d only scrounged up four: The rest were locked away and Andrew wasn’t bothered to break into the store room. The spare practise equipment from the team’s lockers was enough. 

Neil didn’t fire at him. He fired at the ceiling above him, and snatched the ball as it fired right back at him. Andrew watched him fire at each surface, and then at angles that meant the ball ricocheted from one surface to another. Andrew was getting lost at the speed of it that he almost missed Neil turning to the goal and firing at him: He twitched. The ball landed safely in his net, and he threw it back. 

Neil was out of breath and stumbled to catch it: He missed. He hadn’t expected Andrew to intercept it. 

“You never practise with anyone, do you?” Andrew leaned on his stick. “All that firing at different walls is cool, but it’s useless when there’s more than one person on the court, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you.” Neil was breathing heavily through his nose. “I told you that I haven’t played in a while.”

“With a team.” Andrew corrected him. “I totally called it. You sneak in here, don’t you? Who’s racket do you use?”

“I don’t know.” Neil looked at it with a shrug. Another fucking shrug. He looked at Andrew again. “And don’t bullshit me: You didn’t just quit because of Kevin. Why would you leave this, when you’re so good about it?”

“A tit for tat?”

Neil looked apprehensive. “Sure.” 

“Why didn’t you ask to trial with the senior team?”

Neil looked down. “I was too scared.” He looked at his hands gripping the racket. “I _am_ too scared.”

Andrew scoffed. _“Of?”_

Neil looked at him and Andrew thought it was unfair that someone who was only sixteen could look like that. Andrew was turning 17 soon but he didn’t have issues with his appearance, really. He _did_ have an issue, however, with the way Neil looked, namely being, looking too good. And the way Neil was looking at him right now. That did startle Andrew, because—Well. Andrew saw that in the mirror when the worst nightmares woke him up. 

“My ghosts.”

Neil was expecting him to ask more. Andrew didn’t really feel like it. He looked at where his racket was on the ground, and stabbed the floor, trying to make a dent and spoke lowly. “The sports coach likes focussing on the lost causes. He takes kids from fractured homes and gives them a purpose. Palmetto’s a run-of-the-mill shit hole: The trailer city reaches from here to Columbia. There’s a lot of kids who lost motivation between working all night to pay the bills for their drunk parents and the shit education system.” 

“Where do you fit in with that?” Neil had walked closer. 

Andrew rose his eyebrows. “Which question do you want me to answer?”

Neil shook his head. “Keep going with the first one.”

Andrew swung his racket lazily. “The senior teams are the best from the junior teams, though new kids can trial.” He looked at Neil pointedly. “I’m sure Kevin’s told you all about it.”

Neil rolled his eyes with assent. Andrew snorted. 

“I was on the team with my brother. Twin brother.” Andrew added. “My cousin, Nicky, was on it before he graduated a year ago. He got into Palmetto State university for marketing or some shit. Aaron is still on the team.” Andrew leaned on the racket and felt a weird urge to smile. He didn’t. 

“Aaron and Nicky have their issues. A lot of the team do. But, for some reason, I was too fucked up on their scale. None of them had the right to look at me differently, but they did anyway.”

“So you left.” Neil had his racket slung over his shoulders. The loose long sleeves of his shirt slipped down: Andrew could see the scarring around his wrists. That didn’t look like razor blades or knives. Andrew knew what tearing your wrists open on handcuffs looked like. 

Neil was just as fucked as Andrew. He wanted to crack his resolve and ask Neil all the questions that were budding in his mind: He hadn’t felt this curious about something in a very long time. 

It was unnerving. 

Andrew didn’t like it. “Enough. Do you want to practise or not?”

Neil’s eyes sparked. “If I join the team, will you?”

Andrew choked down a laugh. “Seriously, Josten? How important do you think you are?”

“You’ve seen these.” Neil pointed to his face. “They’d probably not ask you so many questions with fresh meat. It’s clear you want to be on the team.”

“I want nothing.” Andrew said darkly. “So shut up.”

Neil shrugged. Andrew had to take a deep breath to stop himself from losing his shit. 

This kid was _infuriating_. 

*

Neil was bone-deep exhausted the next day, but he’d never walked into school on a Monday morning with such lifted spirits. Maybe because he’d actually slept for a solid four hours. Maybe it was because Uncle Stuart made him eggs and bacon before he’d gone to school. 

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._ His mother’s voice chanted over and over. He felt his father standing behind him like an omen of death. 

_They are dead. They aren’t real._

As soon as he was through the main building’s glass doors, he was overwhelmed by the amount of colour that littered the corridor. 

Posters. Dozens of them. Pinned to lockers, littering the floor, in the hands of most of the students wandering around. 

_SENIOR SPORTS TEAMS OPEN TRYOUTS_

Neil grabbed one off the floor. 

_Are you in sophomore, junior or senior year and missed out on joining the junior teams? Palmetto High’s Senior Football, Exy, Soccer, Basketball, Cheerleading, Hockey and Lacrosse teams are opening up to experienced, talented, enthusiastic and undiscovered players. Football, Basketball, Hockey and Lacrosse have male and female leagues, whilst Exy and Soccer and Cheerleading are open opportunity teams for both boys and girls. See try-out times below, and see you there!_

Exy: Friday afternoon, four pm. Gear and personal racket optional. Wear white-soled sneakers. 

Neil’s heart was thudding. He folded the poster and tucked it into his pocket.

The rest of the day blurred by as a decision weighed heavily in the back of his throat. He talked to no one: If he passed Kevin or Andrew, he didn’t notice or approach them. 

Stuart didn’t press. 

Neil spent the night staring at his ceiling and wondering if his dead parents would haunt him forever.


	3. Three

It was Wednesday afternoon before Neil realised and he curled into a ball on the small arm chair. This was obviously concerning behaviour, because Betsy came and knelt in front of him. “Neil?”

“My parents are dead.” 

Betsy rolled her lips into her mouth. “Okay.”

“They died like six months ago.” _Fuck, fuck, fuck, what are you doing? You don’t even know this woman!_

“Do you remember the day?” 

“Of _course_ I do.” Neil’s voice sounded angry. It also sounded like someone else was talking. 

“I was just asking.” Betsy stood up and sat herself down on the couch. “Are you okay with me writing or do you want my full attention?”

“Whatever.” Neil muttered. 

Betsy nodded. “Why are you telling me this, Neil?”

“Because there’s exy tryouts at school. And they keep telling me not to do it.”

“Do they talk to you often?”

“They never stop.”

“What do they say?”

Neil shook his head. 

“Did they not like Exy?”

“I played when I was little.” Neil hedged. “A lot. They both knew I loved it. And then Mum wouldn’t let me, and she would tell me that my obsession would distract me and get us both killed.”

Betsy hesitated, but only for a second. “But she’s dead.”

Neil nodded sullenly. 

“And you are safe from whatever threatened you before, right?”

Neil nodded again. 

“So that residual paranoia is limiting you. Do you know of any ways to combat that?”

He shook his head. 

Betsy paused again. She took a deep breath. “I’m guessing you don’t want to unpack anything about your parents, as of now. But may I ask: Do you miss your mother? Are you grieving her?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“It’s not pleasant to scorn the dead, but if the idea that she’s dead helps you distance yourself from the intrusive and destructive commentary she provides, then it’s a strategy.”

Neil thought about this for a moment. He started thinking about it too much, his thoughts beginning to race once more, so he said: “Okay.”

“Let’s give you a clicker, Neil.” She walked over to her desk and opened the drawers. 

Within them was clutter. Neil allowed him to breathe easier. The unnerving cleanliness of the office seemed less threatening when Neil saw the disarray of Betsy’s drawers. He hated that this was a thing for him. Maybe they would talk about it later. 

She handed him something that looked like a pen. It had a little window along it’s side. 

“This is a clicker. Every time it clicks—“ Betsy demonstrated. “A tally appears. You’re going to have this in your pocket and click every time there is negative commentary about the tryouts on Friday. From yourself, your mother, anyone. Okay?”

Neil took it apprehensively. “What’s that going to do?”

Betsy smiled. “Keep you conscious of it. Let’s talk about Exy, yeah?”

Neil nodded. He screwed the lid so that the clicker was back to zero and pocketed it. 

Exy. He could talk about that. Easy. 

*

“What will they look for tomorrow?” Neil asked him. 

Andrew threw the ball back. “I’m not going, how would I know?”

“Didn’t you have to get into the junior team?”

“Nope.” Andrew popped the ‘p’ for the hell of it. “Waltzed into the team last year for the hell of it, and waltzed right back out of it. Shame, really. They were winning.”

Neil arched a singular eyebrow. Andrew was jealous of that talent. “As if you cared about the season after you left.”

“Ding ding. Point for Josten.”

Neil rolled his eyes. Here, on this empty court, Andrew was seeing an unsheltered Neil. An unrestrained, openly sarcastic Neil Josten. It was strange that after only a week and a half, more or less, Neil was opening up. Andrew thought he’d have to fight a little harder than that. 

Andrew hadn't realised how wrong he was. Not yet. 

“Again.” Neil demanded. He hadn’t scored on Andrew yet and was getting more frustrated by the end of each of these little fuck-arounds. 

“How’s your cardio, Josten?” Andrew called, and lobbed the ball to the other end of the court. Neil tore after it, running so fast his legs blurred. He caught it. Andrew huffed, almost impressed. 

“I want to get onto the team.” Neil said, breathing heavily when he slowed his sprinting to a jog. 

Andrew snorted. “You’ll get on, easy. What happened to your ghosts?”

Neil’s eyes darkened. Andrew’s stomach clenched for no-fucking-good-reason-at- _all_. “Still there.” Then he froze.

Andrew watched him. His eyes flit over to the entrance, shoulders drawn tight. His nose flared.

“Someone’s there.”

“Neil.”

“Someone’s _there_.” Neil started walking backwards and then turned swiftly, sprinting to one of the court doors: He slipped out nimbly and disappeared into the rows of seats. The opposite door opened. 

“Minyard.” David Wymack seemed soundly surprised. “Andrew. What are you doing here?”

“How are the football knuckle-heads, old man?” Andrew leaned on his racket. “Any meat-heads for the coach to kick around?” 

David Wymack was the head of sports at Palmetto, and if that wasn’t stressful enough, he was the Exy coach too. His hair was graying far too early. It used to amuse Andrew, how close he was to losing his shit, like, twenty four-seven. “How often have you been practising?”

Andrew just looked at him. “Dunno.”

“Tryouts are tomorrow.” Wymack hedged. 

“Oh, really. Like I don’t see the hundreds of posters all over the school.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, you haven’t changed much. Aaron said you hadn’t, when I asked.”

So he asks. And that’s what Aaron says. Of course. 

“I wanted to ask you, Andrew. You still on those antidepressants you were when you left last year?”

Andrew and Wymack’d had an honesty agreement. Andrew wasn’t on the team anymore, but the amount of times Wymack had backed him up meant they were kind of out of balance. Andrew hated owing people. “Why do you ask?”

“A girl on the junior team didn’t know what brand to try first. I thought I’d ask you.” 

“Kids are asking you about pills? You aren’t a psychiatrist.”

“I know.” He huffed. “But I’d have better resources than she has.”

Made sense. “The pills are fine.”

“So you’re still on them?”

Wymack didn’t need to know his dosage had upped itself about three times over. He just nodded. 

Wymack nodded in return. He fished into his pockets and brought out keys, throwing them to him. “Lock up and give them back to me tomorrow. I’ll make you a copy.”

“Not necessary.”

Wymack did his best to mask his disappointment. He almost managed: He wasn’t exactly an emotive person to begin with, but Andrew knew his tells. “Alright. Goodnight Andrew.”

Andrew let him leave without saying goodbye. Then he dropped the racket and pocketed his keys to find Neil. 

“Neil. He’s gone.”

No answer. 

“Neil?” He started walking up the stairs. 

Neil was curled in a ball to his right, unmoving. There was something almost terrifying in his stillness. Andrew hadn’t felt such a strong wave of apprehension in his life. “Neil.” 

He knelt in front of him and reached out for Neil’s shoulder but refrained. He repeated Neil’s name twice, slowly. 

“He’s gone, Neil. You’re not going to get in trouble. He doesn’t even know you’re here.”

Neil snapped. He exhaled and inhaled sharply, and the blueish colour his lips lead Andrew to believe he’d been holding onto it for a while. His entire body started shaking and sweat was sliding down the back of his neck. 

“Neil.” _Shit_. “Breathe.”

“Is he gone.” Neil whispered. He was hyperventilating. His voice was hoarse. 

“Yeah. He’s gone. You’re safe.” Wymack would rather slit his wrists than hurt a kid here, but Andrew was pretty sure this wasn’t about Wymack himself. “Breathe, Neil.” 

Neil took in a shaky breath. 

“Let that out.” 

He did. Andrew told him to do it again, settling into a seated position across from him. He watched as, slowly, Neil’s breathing evened out and the terror, or panic, that glossed over his eyes slowly faded away. He closed his eyes. 

When he opened them and looked at Andrew, he was finally present. He looked down at himself and then around to see where he was. This wasn’t a good epiphany. He jumped to his feet and Andrew followed, holding his hands out to grab Neil as he stumbled. 

“Neil, slow down. You’re okay.”

Neil hid his face behind his hands. “I’m sorry.” 

Andrew hated it. He hated it. He _hated_ it. He hated Neil and he hated being unnerved, being concerned. “Shut up.”

Neil whispered it again and Andrew felt like punching him. Instead, he asked: “Was that a panic attack?”

Neil nodded slowly. Oh, so, so slowly. 

“So you have anxiety. Or PTSD. Or both.”

Neil bit his lip. “I guess.” 

Andrew observed him a little longer. “How long has it been since you’ve actually slept?” 

It was like flicking a switch. Neil bared his teeth. “Fuck off. Fuck off, don’t talk to me, don’t bring this up. I’m fine.”

“I totally believe you.” Andrew deadpanned as Neil shoved past him. “One hundred percent!”

“Leave me _alone_.” 

Andrew glared after him long after he’d vanished. 

*

“Neil! Here for the tryouts?”

Neil spared Kevin a confused look. “Why else would I be here?”

_You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here._

His clicker was wedged with his underwear elastic and he clicked it once more. The gym shorts’ pockets were completely useless. 

_You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here._

Kevin’s glare softened to a calculating gaze across at a girl with chin-length, white hair. She smiled back. 

Neil and Kevin’s history stretched way back. Neil was invited to Evermore Academics when he’d been in elementary school: His mother had taken him and ran before his father could mail back the acceptance forms. Neil and Kevin had played against and with each other in the North-Eastern Exy little league. They’d been good friends: Really good friends. Him, Kevin and Riko. 

Now they were both here, because Kevin moved from Evermore last year, and Stuart agreed that it would be easier for Neil to start school when he knew someone. They’d spent the summer together. Kevin had urged Neil to go to therapy. 

And to join the Exy team. 

Kevin knew who he was. He’d known the entire time. Of course he hadn’t blabbed: He didn’t need nor want an Uncle Stuart on his case. 

“Took you long enough.” Kevin muttered to him as they walked side-by-side. There were six others trying out: Four sophomores, two juniors. 

“Aren’t we still pretending to be distant?” Neil pushed him away. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m not doing this for friends. So go away.”

“Fucking rude.” Kevin muttered. 

“Don’t let your father hear you say that.” Neil teased. Kevin shoved him back. No one here but Kevin, Wymack and Neil knew that Kevin was Wymack’s kid.

“As if he’d care.” Kevin sneered.

“Alright, fuckers!” Wymack put his hand up to catch attention. Kevin looked at him pointedly, walking away to join the team. Neil rolled his eyes. “We’re not in school hours and I’m not your PE teacher anymore, so don’t look at me like that, Cowen. I’m your coach, and I can do what I like.” 

The junior who’d been glaring withered. 

“I’m looking for all positions. If you can play multiple, that’s great. You’ll stick to one unless we’re desperate, and in that case, you’d better have put the extra hours in to be just as good in both. Clear?”

They nodded. 

“We’re going to go through basic drills. Then we’re going to do a fitness test. Then you’re going to scrimmage. There’s just enough of you for a whole team, so long as one of you plays goalie?”

Someone hesitantly put up their hand. 

Wymack looked satisfied. “Doesn’t matter if you’re not as good as the team: That’s the point of joining. I just want to see confidence, passion and enthusiasm. Understand?”

Neil swallowed. He looked to where he’d broken down last night, thinking his father was alive and here to scalp him and slit his tendons and torture him within an inch of his life, between rows and rows of chairs, and in front of _Andrew Minyard_ of all people. 

 

“Let’s get going, people!”

*

“How were tryouts?” Stuart asked, hesitant. 

Neil shrugged, a mouthful of pasta blocking his usual response: _fine_. 

“Let me guess,” He said dryly. “Fine?”

Neil nodded and swallowed his mouthful. 

“Nate, you have to give me a little more than that. Exy! Did you scrimmage? Was it good?”

“It was okay.” Neil allowed, stabbing at his food. 

“Do you think you’re on the team?” Stuart pressed. 

Neil stood up and grabbed his bowl. He hadn’t finished but he wasn’t hungry. “I’m done. Thanks for dinner.”

“Nate,” Stuart hesitated as Neil scraped food into the bin and put his bowl in the dishwasher. He only realised Neil was serious about leaving when he turned for his bedroom. “Nate! Come on—“ 

Neil slammed his door and fell against it, hugging his arms around himself and counting to ten in English, German, French, Spanish—

_Nate, Nate, Nate. My biggest failure. My second biggest regret._

He slid onto the ground and curled into a ball. He didn’t move for hours.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was meant to be a five chapter, 5000 word thing. it's ten chapters and 30,000 words. what is this monster i have created.

“Stop.” 

Neil was sweating buckets. Every time he stopped moving, the nausea returned, so he just didn’t stop. He kept firing at the goal and throwing to himself and wishing that he could sleep for just _one night_ without waking up screaming, sweating, crying—

“Neil, stop.” 

Andrew ducked as Neil aborted his swing and almost hit him. Exhaustion swept over him when he stopped, and his entire body was shaking. 

“What are you _doing_.” Andrew growled, looking up and down at him. “You’re going to hurt yourself like this. What is this supposed to achieve?”

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s Sunday.” Andrew said, like that explained everything. 

“Well,” Neil felt like he was going to pass out. “Court’s yours.”

“Are you going to be sick?”

Neil clutched onto the Exy racket in his hands. “If I’d eaten anything today, I probably already would’ve been.”

“Go shower.” Andrew’s nose wrinkled. “Then we’re going out.” 

“Didn’t you just hear me? I said—“

“I heard what you said. I just don’t particularly care. Are those the only clothes you have?”

Neil looked down at his sweat-drenched shirt. “Yeah.”

Andrew looked unimpressed and turned to leave. “Go wait in the locker room.”

“I’m not showering here and I’m not going anywhere with you—“

“Did you say something?” Andrew said before slamming the court doors closed. 

Neil huffed in frustration. He picked up the balls with shaky hands and returned his racket to its designated position. The sweat really was gross, now that he was beginning to cool down. The nausea returned with full force and he sat on a bench, gripping the edge with his fingers. He didn’t want to dry heave. He was exhausted enough as it was. 

“Here.” Andrew chucked clothes at him. “Go shower.”

Neil looked at them. 

“It’s a sweater and sweatpants, Neil. Not some extra-terrestrial form of life.”

“Are you being nice to me?”

“No.” Andrew said flatly. 

“Right.” Neil tried to sound casual, but his voice was shaking. He took the clothes to the showers and was relieved to find stalls: If he did get on the team, he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone seeing the scars that they didn’t already know about. He showered quickly: The cold water helped settle his stomach a little, but his hands still shook as he dressed. 

Both the sweater and the pants were short. His wrists were exposed. The drawstring of the pants had to be tied or they slipped down onto his hips, where there was a gap between the waistband and the sweater. He put his boots on without socks and shoved his crap into the plastic bag Andrew’s clothes had come in. 

Andrew snorted when he came out, closing the book he was reading. “Nice ankles.”

“You are three inches shorter than me.” Neil reminded him. 

Andrew looked up at him, as if challenging him to say anything else. 

“Short pint.” Neil added. 

“Fuck you.” He said, calmly. “Pay for your own shit.”

“Didn’t want anything anyway.” Neil shrugged. 

“Stop fucking _shrugging._ ” Andrew snapped. “It’s annoying.”

Neil shrugged half a dozen times for good measure. Andrew was unimpressed. 

His car was a little messier than it had been last time. Neil sat in the front and he had to close the glove box when he got in and throw a paper bag into the back. Something that sounded like pills rattled when he did. There were empty beer cans in the drink holders and a shoe poking out from under Neil’s seat. 

“Nicky never fucking cleans up when he takes the car out.” Andrew mutters. 

“It’s fine.” Neil promised. 

They pulled up outside a place called _Sweeties_. It was a typical diner. It seemed a little out of place for Andrew, but his hair was more pink than purple today, and matched the diner’s exterior. 

He pushed Neil over to a table and went up to order. Neil didn’t like it, because it was an unfamiliar setting, and the niceness made Neil feel like it was covering up something ugly. Neil knew this was unreasonable. Not everyone needed a ulterior motive.

Andrew dropped into the booth next to him and pulled his book out of his messenger bag. It was thin, but the text was tiny. It was a wonder he didn’t need glasses. 

Wait.

“Are those contact lenses?” Neil leaned in a little closer to look. Andrew was frozen. “They are.”

“So?” Andrew said, defensive. 

“Contacts are awful.” Neil murmured, reminiscing. “They get so itchy and you lose them all the time.”

Andrew was glaring. “You don’t have them.”

“I—I used to.”

“You don’t just stop needing them. That’s not how shit eyesight works.” 

“That’s how mine worked.” Neil said, and then shrugged for good measure. Andrew glared. “What book are you reading?”

“Of Mice And Men.”

“Will I have to read it next year?”

“So many questions.” Andrew muttered. “No. It’s for extra credit.”

Neil let himself grin. “Failing?”

“I finished this semester’s syllabus already.”

That was a surprise. “That’s unnecessary.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “I get bored. You must hate literature, don’t you. Jock.” 

“Used to read a lot.” Neil muttered. “It’s just hard to focus.” 

“With all those little thoughts and worries and little anxieties.” Andrew spun a fork between his fingers. “Right.”

“Fuck you.” Neil curled in on himself. “You’re not any better. How many people know you’re on antidepressants?” 

The fork stopped spinning. 

“I saw them in the glove box. You don’t get to say shit about my mental health when yours is just as crap too.” 

“Shut up, Neil.”

“Really, Andrew.” Neil was _exhausted_. “You recommended the free psychology practise in Columbia and told me the school counsellor was shit. It’s not like I was going to assume that you’d heard it all from a friend.” He took the fork out of Andrew’s hand and eyed the armbands that looked like long-sleeves with his black, three-quarter sleeve shirt. “Besides, I know what hiding scars looks like.” 

The food arrived. They ate in stony, stony silence. 

*

Andrew didn’t talk to him for two weeks. That was fine: Neil made it into the team. There were a group of new people in his life who wanted to get to know him, now. Who told him to sit with them at lunch. Who waved at him in the hallway. 

Dan, Kevin, Matt, Allison, Seth, Renee and Aaron. There were a handful of others, but those struck Neil as the true carriers of the team. Seth kind of hated him. So did Aaron. Renee spooked him, Kevin got on his nerves, and Allison was bitchy a lot of the time, but he really liked Dan as a leader and captan, Matt was incredibly nice to him, and Kevin was. Well. Kevin. 

They had a game that they didn’t need to do well in to qualify, but it didn’t mean they slacked. Neil stayed on the bench. It’d only been two weeks with the team: He couldn’t possibly play in the first month. Maybe even the second. 

He saw Andrew after the game, waiting to pick up Aaron. Aaron glared at him. Neil just turned away. 

Andrew reappeared the Sunday after that game. He said nothing, flicking back all of Neil’s best shots and letting the weaker ones roll away. He gave Neil a cigarette afterwards, and they stayed suspended for another hour, until Neil left to walk home. He had almost apologised for the things he’d said at the diner. 

“Don’t ruin this with stupid shit from your stupid mouth.” Andrew said, leaning back on his hands and squinting out over the school’s football field. 

Neil didn’t know what the _this_ he'd referred to was. The peace and quiet? Most likely. 

He simply nodded, turned, and left. 

The next afternoon, a Monday afternoon, Andrew turned up to practise and watched. He did the same all week. And the next. 

That Friday, Neil’s second game with the team, was when Andrew waltzed up to Wymack in his gear and waited for Renee to come off in the final quarter. They’d talked about this. Renee gave him an excited hug, and Wymack turned to tell Neil to get on the court. It didn’t matter what happened: Andrew would be able to hold their half alone. 

Neil’s anxiety hadn’t been given time to fully develop before the whilst had blown. The exhilaration of the game kept him flying high. He even scored a goal. 

Adrenaline kept all his shit at bay, for at least a week. A whole week of sleeping pretty well and eating a lot and keeping up with class. A week of being a _teenager_.

But Janie Smalls was moved to a rehabilitation centre for her eating disorder, and people were coming to scout Seth and the girls for sport scholarships into college. And Kevin, of course. Everyone was always interested in Kevin, who transferred from the dream team, down to shitty little Palmetto. 

It got real. Neil was on a team. 

“I’m never going to get a scholarship with _freakshows_ left, right and centre!” Seth growled, shoving past Dan during one practise. He turned to Wymack and pointed at Neil. “We don’t need more shit on this team!”

“As if you’re not just as freaky as the rest of us, Seth.” Matt put a hand on Neil’s shoulder. Neil swallowed, stomach knotting on itself. “You can’t say that.”

“He’s just getting the shits because Neil’s better than him, already.” Allison snorted, looking at her nails.

“That’s not true.” Neil kept his voice down, scuffing his shoe against the ground. 

“You can’t even hold a racket with all the shit on your hands.” Seth laughed coldly. “Of course I’m better than him.”

“Seth, shut up. That’s awful.” 

Another senior, Jack, grinned. “Another minature psycho like Minyard, d’you think? Hey, fag!” Jack sneered down to where Andrew was lazing around near goal. He didn’t respond. “Midget, do you think Neil’s just as fucked as you are? It’d be hard to get any worse, wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t fucking talk to my brother like that.” Aaron pointed his racket at Jack. 

“You’re probably just as screwed as he is and no one knows it. Right?”

“Am not.” Aaron growled. 

“Everyone just—“ 

Sheena cut over Dan. “You don’t get to talk, captain whore.”

“Sheena.” Matt warned. “Shut up.”

“Fuck off, druggo.” Jack started coughing theatrically and stopped to grin. “Can’t hear you over your wheeze. Had enough pot today? Or are your eyes just red because you cried about Daddy ditching you?”

Neil was watching a team get picked apart. 

“Jack—“

“Look, the miniature psycho’s coming back.” Seth laughed. Allison shook her head at him: Renee was holding onto her shoulder, but looking worriedly at Andrew. 

“Finally joining us?” Sheena crossed her arms. “Had enough of your twisted fantasies of gutting each of us?”

“Never.” Andrew said, plainly. “What did you say about Aaron?”

“That he’s probably just a psychopathic little shit, just like you, and that you probably planned all that shit with your moth—“

“Andrew—“

“Renee, don’t—“

“Matt—!” 

“Everybody, shut _up!”_ Dan roared. 

“What the _fuck_ is happening here?” The voice was unexpected and so, so, _so loud. Neil froze, shaken to his very core. _No.__

_Andrew was looking at him, pointedly._

The team dispersed and Neil was grabbed by the wrist, dragged off the court and sat down. “Neil.” 

Neil couldn’t breathe. 

“Neil.” 

There was a pressure inside of his head that was increasing, increasing, increasing— 

“Yes.” He gasped out, though he didn’t remember what the question was. Fingers tilted up his chin, a hand cupping his jaw. 

“Breathe. All you have to do is breathe.” 

Neil tried. It didn’t work the first time, or the second, but on the third he coughed, and the fourth allowed a shaky inhale. 

“Keep going.” 

He did. 

“Close your eyes. Betsy has given you grounding techniques. What are they?” 

He counted to ten in English, German, French and Spanish. He still couldn’t breathe properly, so he counted out loud, though it was most likely mumbling. 

The intense thudding of his heart slowly quietened enough for him to hear the scufflings on the court. He was at the Foxhole Court, as the team liked to call it. He was with the Foxes. In Palmetto High. He wasn’t running anymore. His mother and father were dead. His name was Neil Josten. 

He took in another breath and cracked open an eye to look at Andrew. “So you found out who my therapist is, huh.” 

“Wasn’t hard.” Andrew paused. “We have the same one.” 

Neil nodded slowly, still breathing. 

Andrew sat next to him. “You’re lucky I know your triggers. You would have collapsed on court.” 

“I don’t want you to know my triggers.” He didn’t want weaknesses. He just wanted to function normally. 

Andrew didn’t say anything for a while. Neil watched the team practise. They seemed slower and disjointed. 

“You were right about the arm bands.” 

Neil looked at him. “What?” 

Andrew said nothing. His face was the cool facade that it always was. 

It didn’t take long for Neil to realise. Tit for tat. “A truth for a truth.” 

“Now we’re even.” Andrew agreed. “Ready to go back?” 

Neil nodded. 


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gurl i accidentally posted the chapter in this summary, u know these things have a 1250 word limit? who tf is writing 1250 words in here?

Neil wrapped his jumper around himself when he stepped outside. He was definitely feeling the change in the weather, though South Carolina’s winters were weak compared to what he was used to. 

Luckily, Neil no longer needed to catch the 157 back up the interstate to Palmetto: Andrew’s car waited for him in the far corner of the parking lot. Wednesday night was the team’s non-obligatory late night practise, so Neil spent the two hours between therapy and practise with Andrew. 

They’d agreed prior to today about going back to his. It was getting too cold to just find a park to study in: Andrew’d been kicked out of Columbia’s main library apparently a year ago, and the librarian was still holding a grudge. 

“Don’t really like libraries anyway.” Was what Andrew said, after retelling the anecdote. Neil wasn’t sure if he was just saying that to deflect any emotional consolidation or just genuinely didn’t like libraries. 

Neil was nervous about this. Andrew didn’t know anything about who he was or where he’d come from and hadn’t asked. Neil was sure that it would change once he did. What he knew about Andrew was common knowledge: He’d grown up in the foster system, he’d spent two years in juvie when he was 13. He had inferred a lot more about Andrew than anyone else knew, simply because—about certain things—Neil _was_ a good judge of character. 

Neil wondered how—in the two months between Andrew warning him away from the school’s counsellor and him sitting in Andrew’s car at that moment in time—he’d become so _comfortable_. Comfort was an unknown, scary thing. He and his mother hadn’t moved around too much, hiding in plain sight, but as soon as Neil developed a childish attachment to the place, they gathered their things and took themselves someplace else. 

Neil was getting more unsettled, the more settled he became. He should have already left. Staying was dangerous. Andrew knowing his anxious tells and his triggers was dangerous. Having friends was dangerous. He should have booked it from Palmetto as soon as the team tryouts enticed him into making more connections. 

“You’re thinking so loud I can hear it.” Andrew swerved into a driveway.

Neil looked at the house. It wasn’t anything spectacular. The lawn was unkempt and there were pairs of boots and sneakers by the front door, the curtains drawn shut over the window. “Your cousin owns this whole place? Isn’t he, like, 19?”

“Courtesy of his parents.” Andrew clambered out. Neil almost forgot to follow. “They felt bad for forcing him to go to conversion therapy, but not bad enough to allow him back into the family. I’m sure Nicky will tell you all about it.”

Neil wasn’t looking forward to it. 

Neil indulged himself with the usual scouting of a new environment: There was a hallway, probably leading to more bedrooms, but a laundry with another exit leading outside. He didn’t see any gates or fences barricading the backyard from the front: That was a viable escape option. 

He looked at the many, many books spread over the coffee table, and found Aaron there. He was sitting on the couch, nestled in what looked like his place, studying. He didn’t look up when Andrew got through the door, but when he heard a second pair of feet, he glared. Then he looked surprised. “The fuck?”

“Coming to practise?” Andrew flicked Aaron in the back of the head as he walked past. Neil thought that if Aaron didn’t straighten out the angry dip of his eyebrows that they’d get stuck there. 

“I have a biology exam tomorrow.”

Andrew didn’t say anything, having understood. Neil didn’t, though, and stood by the door awkwardly. Andrew got himself a bowl of cereal and looked over to him, thoroughly unimpressed. “God, you’re useless. Come on.”

Neil scowled. 

“If you hate him so much, then why the fuck is he here?” Aaron called. 

“Who’s here?” Someone else yelled. “Andrew, have you brought someone home?”

“Were you meant to have asked?” Neil couldn’t keep the edge of apprehension out of his voice. “Did you?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Calm down.”

Neil crossed his arms, feeling like a scolded child. “Don’t tell me to calm down. I have anxiety.”

He rolled his eyes again, continuing to his room. “Fuck off, Nicky!” 

Something sounded like it was knocked over behind one of the closed doors. Andrew tugged Neil into his room quickly, but couldn’t shut the door in time. 

“Hi!” Nicky burst into the room. 

“Don’t scare him, Nicholas!” Aaron yelled. 

“This is a lot of yelling.” Andrew said, a completely futile comment. 

“I’m Nicky, the twin’s legal guardian.” Nicky grinned, smile wide. His black curls bounced and brown eyes were lined with laugh lines, crinkled up as he smiled at Andrew. “Don’t look like their cousin, but I am. Andrew, you didn’t tell me you were having a friend over!”

“We’re not friends.” Andrew started eating his cereal and kicked a pair of underwear under his bed, pulling up the covers with one hand. 

Nicky laughed that off. “Who are you, then?”

“Um. Neil.”

“Neil. Bit of a boring name for such a—“

“Nicky.” Andrew warned. “Fuck off.”

Nicky just cackled. “Proud of you, Andrew. Knew that ice-cold glare would win someone over one day. Are you also a junior?”

“Sophomore.” 

“How did you and Andrew meet, then?”

“I’m on the Exy team?” 

“Nicky.” 

“Right, right, I’m going!” Nicky laughed again and winked at Andrew. “My bad. Let me know if you want dinner before or after practise.”

“Yeah,” Andrew seemed distracted. “Thanks.”

Nicky waved his fingers at Neil before closing the door. 

Neil let out a sigh. “He seems…” 

Andrew graced him with a flat look and went back to his cereal, sitting down on his desk chair. 

“Nice?” Neil finished. 

They looked at each other. Neil let himself laugh a little, and hid his face in his hands. 

“What?” Andrew’s mouth had the tiniest of curls at it’s corner. 

“I’ve never—“ Neil looked around. “I don’t know. I’ve never gone over to someone’s house, you know? Like to study, or just hang around.”

“You’re so strange.” Andrew crossed his legs on his chair. “I've never really done that, either.”

“I got that from Nicky’s reaction.” 

Andrew muttered something under his breath and rubbed his eyes, exasperated. “He’s so ridiculous.” 

“Seems like an anxious type.” Neil chewed on his lip. Andrew’s room wasn’t clean, but it was much more orderly than Neil thought it would be. One of his walls was painted black. He didn’t have much memorabilia: Just a shelf with lots of novels and textbooks, a black carpet on the wooden floor, Exy stuff thrown into the corner. There was a small ceramic AJ mounted on the back of his door, with a coat hook underneath it. 

Andrew stood up and crossed the room to poke Neil’s chin. “Stop chewing on your lips.”

Neil grimaced. “New habit.”

“Yeah, so, stop it.” 

Neil rolled his eyes. “Not really that simple. Are you going to help me with English homework or not?”

“I’m not doing it for you.” Andrew warned. 

“You say that every time.” Neil grinned: He genuinely grinned. “And then you take over because I’m so hopeless.” 

“You can’t recognise techniques to save your life.” Andrew muttered, shuffling back onto his bed.

They ended up at opposite ends, Andrew with his laptop and Neil with his notepad. Neil looked up as Andrew was typing. It was quiet and calm. Neil liked it. He closed his eyes, willed himself not to overthink anything and continued with his work. 

*

That Friday was their first away game of the season. They loaded into Palmetto’s white sport’s coach. It was catered to all the sports teams, so there was plenty of room to put their equipment. Neil carefully placed in his borrowed racket by his bag and followed Kevin onto the bus. Neil wanted to sit with Kevin and Andrew, but Matt pulled him up closer to the front. Dan got him pumped for the game and Renee and Seth talked about striker techniques and getting past goalies: Beau, Sheena, Jack and the others listened to music or talked quietly within themselves.

Halfway through the twenty-minute drive to the Calbury High where they’d verse their Catamounts, Kevin called Neil back. Evermore’s latest game highlights had been posted on the Southern Division High School Exy’s website. Neil watched the ten-or-so seconds of their number three, a backliner, launching the ball down the court and Riko carrying it the rest of the way to slam it into the back of the goal. 

“Who’s that?”

“Jean Moreau. New.” 

“Riko’s replacing you.” Neil said quietly. 

Kevin shook his head. “He would have given him the two.” 

Neil looked at Kevin. He looked at the screen, lips rolled into his mouth. He was anticipating the day where they would verse Evermore, and Kevin would have to face Riko for the first time. Who was better between the two of them? Had Kevin done the wrong thing by running away?

“Kevin.” Neil poked his cheek. “Stop. Go talk strategy to the rest of the team and focus on the game. This isn’t going to help you.”

Kevin nodded and pocketed his phone. 

Andrew had been looking at them with what looked like complete disinterest. Neil knew him a little better than that and took Kevin’s place. “What?”

“How long have you known Kevin?”

Neil looked up at him, head still bowed down. “A while.” It was a vague enough interpretation and if Andrew thought about it, he’d connect the dots. 

He merely hummed. 

“Maybe I should be getting a phone.” Neil bit his lip but Andrew reached over to pull it out before he could do much damage. He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Apologise to yourself, Josten.” 

Neil shrugged and then grinned when Andrew rolled his eyes. “Ready for the game?”

Andrew said nothing and looked out the window. Neil relaxed into his chair but didn’t let himself fall asleep, scared that the terrors behind his eyes would come and have him lose his shit in front of the team. The rest of the drive was a blur. 

“Don’t let a new place mess with your head, Neil.” Wymack pulled him aside before they walked onto the court. “It’s just the same.”

Neil stepped out of his arm’s reach. “Yes, coach.”

Wymack was too hard to read, so Neil didn’t even try and followed Kevin out onto the court. 

The score by the end of the game was a tie. Neil scored once in the first five minutes he was put on the court. The Catamounts switched out their backliners to be speedier instead of stronger, so Kevin was the one who scored the rest in the second half, whilst Neil was barred up with backliners who taunted his scars through the metal grating of his helmet. 

He didn’t let it get to his head until he got home, late that night. Then it kept him awake until the sun rose up, when he finally collapsed with exhaustion. 

*

“Do you want me to come looking for a phone with you, Neil?” Stuart offered. 

Neil shook his head. “My—my teammate is coming with me.”

“Oh, really?” Stuart smiled a little. “What’s his name?”

Neil frowned a little. “Andrew.”

“Do you like him?” 

Neil blinked. Did he—did he like Andrew? “What?” 

“Is he a good friend?”

Neil blinked again. He thought about the two moments of panic where Andrew had told him to breathe and had waited until he was steady on his feet again. Andrew was not someone who had _friends,_ though. But what else was it meant to be? “I guess.”

Stuart nodded, glad. “You should have him over, sometime.”

Neil looked around their small place. “Really?”

He nodded again. “Yeah, Neil. This is a safe space: We’re not going anywhere. You can have people here.”

Neil nodded, stomach knotting on itself once more. “Okay.”

“Do you have enough money for the phone?” 

“Yes.”

“And I’ll be going to the garage later for a shift, so have you got your keys?”

“Yeah.”

“Good boy.” Stuart ruffled his hair gently. They’d dyed it last night. “Will you be going to practise again after getting the phone?”

Neil patted his sport’s bag. “I think so.”

“Alright. Enjoy your day, Nate.”

Neil swallowed and his hand fumbled at the front door’s handle. “You too, Uncle Stuart.” He might have slammed it a little hard on the way out. 

Andrew told him to meet him outside school. His car was already waiting when Neil jogged around the corner and he slid into the passenger seat. 

Andrew could immediately sense the tension. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” 

“Neil.”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m neurotypical.” Andrew crossed his arms. “Tell me.”

Neil shook his head. “It’s just a stupid thing.”

“So?”

“I don’t want to explain, Andrew. Just drive.” 

Andrew shook his head. “Be stubborn, then.” 

Neil let himself breathe. 

They arrived at the mall and Neil immediately hated it. Andrew didn’t let him dawdle and tugged him into a small tech shop. 

“Smart phone?” Andrew asked. 

“I guess? I don’t know—“

“Do you care about price?”

Neil swallowed. “I might lose it, so yeah.”

“Second hand.” Andrew decided. “And you won’t lose it. You’re too anal about everything.”

“Thanks.” Neil said, sourly. 

It wasn’t a smartphone Neil saw much of: Most of them were Apple, weren’t they? Neil asked Andrew. 

“It’s like you’re living in the ninety’s.” Andrew shook his head. “You’re an embarrassment to the generation.”

“What’s yours, then?” Neil crossed his arms, defensive. 

“Same as this one. Galaxy S6.” Andrew said calmly, holding up the phone to Neil. The man behind the counter was putting out different colours. “Don’t fuck around with Apple. It’s crap.” 

Neil smiled lopsidedly. “You want me to have the same phone as you?”

“Want?” Andrew scoffed. 

Neil walked out with a silver smart phone and no clue what to do with it. They went to Sweeties before going back to the court and Neil stuck fries into Andrew’s ice cream: Andrew ate them all, looking right into Neil’s eyes until Neil cracked and laughed. Then he squished the cherry onto Neil’s cheek. Neil peeled it off and ate it: Andrew was disgusted, but then choked on a laugh of his own when Neil gagged. He hated these cherries. They were so sweet. He spat it out into his napkin. 

They were just teenagers, goofing around in a diner on a Sunday afternoon. It was liberating. 

Andrew was looking at him with vaguely concealed confusion, like Neil had done something incredible and he was lost at how. Neil, who was now fully equipped with gear and a striker racket his size, ran himself dead on the court. He must have been getting better, because Andrew was pink-cheeked and a little puffed out by the end. 

Neil watched him get into his car after they’d showered and packed up, lodging the lock back into place. Neil wanted to get spare keys but felt like Wymack wouldn’t allow the new kid free reign. Andrew wouldn’t ask: He obviously didn’t want anyone seeing past his apathetic, nonchalant facade. Or something like that. 

Neil rose an eyebrow at him when he didn’t start the engine. Instead, Andrew rose his phone to his ear. 

Neil’s started ringing. He answered it. 

“How’d you get my number?” Neil smiled lopsidedly. “I don’t even know my number.”

“I just helped you get it all, moron.” Andrew said. “Of course I have your number.”

“Sly.” 

“You know,” Andrew hesitated, looking down. 

“What?” Neil tapped on the hood of his car. His gaze snapped up again. 

“I don’t sleep much, either.” He said. 

Neil nodded, understanding. “Well. Um.”

“The words you’re looking for are _text me_. Or _call me_.”

“Yeah.” Neil grinned. “Okay. I will.” 

Andrew hung up and Neil stood back, letting him drive off. Then he walked home, hopping with every second step. 

“Good day?” Stuart peered into Neil’s room. Then he wiggled his eyebrows. “Flashy phone. You going to get a laptop anytime soon?” 

“It was a good day.” Neil allowed. He almost felt like staying up all night so the day would never end: Or, at least, not having any nightmares disturb him. “Maybe for my senior year I will.” 

“Alright.” Stuart came in and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Maybe a haircut is in order, soon. Do you still want me to do it?” 

“No, I—“ Neil swallowed. Hair dressers, mirrors, comments, small talk. “I think I’ll try find somewhere.”

“Proud of you.” Stuart said, and dusted what Neil realised after he’d left was a small kiss over his hair. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He stared after him, long after he’d shut the door. 

So this was what family felt like. 

*

“I barely know how to use it.” Neil tossed the phone from one hand to the other. “I was never allowed to have anything like this.”

“Did your uncle push you?”

“Not really. I think he appreciates being able to contact me, now, but I never did anything without telling him where I was. It’s little things, mostly. What’s in the fridge for dinner if I get home from practise and he’s still at work.”

Betsy smiled. “Is that nice?”

Neil swallowed and nodded. “He kissed the top of my head. On Sunday.”

“And affection from family is unfamiliar to you.”

“I think I just don’t like affection at all.” Neil shifted, uncomfortable. 

“Is that just how it is, or because you never experienced it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you remember any family affection at all? Or maybe something from friends?” Betsy sat back. “Your parents?”

Neil remembered his mother grabbing his face in both hands and telling him to run as fast as he could. He remembered her clutching him to her chest as they slept. He remembered his parents taking turns to feed him when he was really, really young: He remembered being lifted high into the air by his father, and his mother expressing her fear of Nathan dropping him. He never dropped Neil. It’s just a game, Mary. We’re just having fun. 

“I know we’ve haven’t talked about them since you were worried about the tryouts." Betsy hedged. “Did you live with your parents before they died?”

He remembered his mother rocking back and forth, in tears, in a motel. Her life was in shreds, she said. I’m doing all of this to protect you from him, she said. He will kill me if he finds us for stealing you away, she said. Don’t believe his promises. Don’t. 

He remembered when the fighting heightened from yelling to screaming and then to violence, all in one night. He was six at the time. His mother had come into his room afterwards with a swollen cheek and rocked him, head pressed to where her heart was thudding. Nate, you don’t need to cry. Mom is okay. Everything will be okay. Daddy’s just angry. He’s upset. He’ll be okay. He’s coming to kiss you goodnight soon, okay? Everything will be okay. 

“Yeah.” Neil whispered. 

“Both of them?”

“Just Mom.”

“Okay.” Betsy said. “Can you think of any moments with her where she was kind, warm, affectionate with you?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Neil shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about them.”

“Ever?” Betsy leaned forward to catch Neil’s gaze. “Or yet?”

Neil swallowed. And swallowed. There was a cotton wad in his throat, and he felt dizzy and nauseous and he was _not_ going to have a panic attack here, he refused to. That didn’t make much sense, when Betsy was his therapist, but she didn’t know about his parents. He didn’t want to say something because he had completely lost all inhibitions in the midst of a wave of panic. 

“Yet.” He decided. 

Betsy sat back and took a deep breath. “Good. That’s good, Neil.”

Neil couldn’t find his voice to agree. 

*

Andrew came back from Eden’s at one in the morning on Sunday. He’d worked last night, too, because there hadn’t been a game. Aaron followed him inside and Nicky locked the door behind all of them. The three of them worked in the kitchens, cleaning and cooking the limited foods the bar provided. Nicky worked four nights a week: Andrew tried to work two, and Aaron mainly stuck to Saturday night. It was enough to cover food, gas and the bills. Andrew’s extra shift was for this anti-depressants. Eden’s Twilight was a relatively tame bar. The place had it’s specialty nights and its events, but as far as night-clubs went, Nicky said it was pretty chilled. 

“Have you got community service tomorrow?” Nicky asked. 

Andrew nodded. 

“Alright. D’you need me to get up and make breakfast?”

“I can live with cereal, Nicky.”

He looked a little hurt. “You know I’m just trying to look after you.”

Andrew waved him off. 

“G’night!” 

“Night, Nicky.” Aaron said. He grabbed Andrew by the arm and Andrew punched him in the stomach. He doubled over. _“Ow!”_

“Don’t touch me.” Andrew grumbled. 

“Fine. Whatever. Fucking hell.” Aaron snapped. “Stop being such a shit to Nicky. He’s just worried about you.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t.”

Aaron glared. “He’s still paranoid.” 

“What, from August?” Andrew scoffed. 

Aaron’s gaze softened. “Yeah, Andrew. It was a real fucking shock to his system.” He shook his head. “Don’t do that again, okay? Hospital bills are a bitch.”

“Where the fuck is this coming from.”

Aaron crossed his arms. “You’re getting moodier.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. He'd lowered his drug dosage by half that week. It must have been making a noticeable difference. “Fuck off. Both of you.”

“You have to let us _help_ you. Hey, don’t—“ Aaron slammed his hand against Andrew’s door before he could shut it. He looked at Andrew’s armbands. “You aren’t, right?”

“Fuck _off_ , Aaron. As if you actually care.” 

Aaron let him shut the door.

He threw himself onto his bed enough that he bounced and stared at the ceiling. It felt too far away, when there was this weight pressing on his chest, so heavy that he couldn’t breathe. 

This was the price of getting caught. Other’s concern and watchful eyes. His forearms ached with a phantom pain and the familiar urge made his fingers twitch. 

He felt sick. He remembered Nicky’s panic and Aaron’s horror. He remembered his own anger, over everything else, that he’d let it get so out of hand that now his family knew, and nothing would be the same. 

Fucking hell. Fucking, fucking, fuck, _fuck_. 

His phone buzzing in his pocket was what forced him to open his eyes and actually inhale. He pulled it out, fumbling. 

_help_

Neil.

Andrew texted back: _Do you want me to call?_

_Neil: i don’t know_

_Andrew: What’s happening?_

_N: nightmare. i cant breathe._

_A: I’m going to call._

_N: no wait i don’t know maybe it’ll get worse_

_A: Why would it?_

_N: i dont know_

_A: I’m calling now._

Andrew was sitting up now. It took forever for Neil to pick up, considering he’d already been holding the phone. 

“Neil.”

He let out a strangled noise. 

“Turn a light on and listen to me. Breathe.”

Andrew went through what had worked last time, but Neil’s breathing was still ragged. He counted to ten for him in English, German and French, but he didn’t know Spanish, and hoped Neil did it in his head. 

What helps anxious people? Music? Neil didn’t listen to music. Andrew just kept getting him to breathe. 

It took a while, but he didn’t particularly have anything else he’d rather be doing and sat through it, telling Neil to inhale and exhale until he quietened, and eventually spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” Andrew sighed at the apology. “It’s two in the morning.”

“You can tell the time, Neil. Congratulations.”

He coughed. “I’m sorry.”

“Say it again and I’ll find your house to pinch your lips shut, you hear me? Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s all I ever do.” Neil mumbled. 

“How often do you get nightmares?”

“All the time. Every day.”

“Is it the same shit?”

“Not really.” Neil’s voice was worn thin. “It’s the same people, different places and times and—I don’t know. I don’t remember them well.”

“Does this happen every time?”

“No.” Neil muttered. 

“Stop biting your lip. I can hear you.”

“Sor—“ He stopped himself and sighed frustratedly. “Betsy brought shit up on Wednesday. They’ve been getting worse since. And I don’t want to talk about it with her because I don’t want to explain what they’re about.”

“You’re talking about them to me, and I don’t have any background information.”

Neil huffed.

“You know I’m right.” Andrew crossed his legs and played with the hem of his jeans. “Maybe you could go to the psychiatrist there.”

“I don’t want to be reliant on sleep drugs.” Neil’s voice quavered. 

“Maybe just some Xanax. Something for all the stress.”

Neil hummed. “Maybe.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Just—“ Neil swallowed audibly. “Just for a little while.”

Andrew’s heart was racing. “Okay.”

They talked till morning.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)))

Neil and Andrew sat together on the hood of his car the next morning: Neil was leaning back against the windshield, blocking his eyes from the sun. His entire body was drooping with exhaustion. Andrew felt the same way. 

They’d only gotten off the phone a few hours ago for Andrew to shower and go help with washing up at a homeless centre for his parole service. Now Andrew’s already fucked sleep schedule would be completely out of whack, but he didn’t mind. 

“You can try sleep, you know.” Andrew muttered, smoke curling out of his mouth. “I’ll wake you up.”

Neil shook his head. 

“Neil, you need to sleep.”

“I will tonight.” Neil sat up. “I’ll be too tired to dream. Truth for truth?” 

Andrew knew this game was going to tether him to Neil in more ways than he wanted to. But he couldn’t help it. He’d reached out to a scared boy in the hallway: It was his fault they spent most of every Sunday together, smoking and playing Exy and generally fucking around. “Sure.”

“My parents died a few months ago. I think maybe seven, now. That’s where most of my nightmares come from.” 

Andrew swallowed. “That was two truths. And you didn’t ask a question.”

“You can answer with whatever two truths you want.” Neil stared at his hands. “I don’t mind.”

“Then it’s not equal.”

“They don’t have to be about the same thing to be just as heavy.” Neil rubbed his face with frustration. “I didn’t mean to force you to say anything. I just know you don’t like it being one sided.”

He was right, but he couldn’t take back the truths now. What was worse was that his scarring told another story: Maybe he was the lone survivor of a house fire, or a crash, that had both of his parents dead. Andrew didn’t believe this, though. Those scars were purposefully placed. 

He said: “I don’t know who my father is. My biological mother died in a car crash when I got out of juvie. You can find that out from any newspaper you like though, so I’ll give you this: Aaron wasn’t the one in the car.” 

Neil stared at him. Andrew felt like he was peeling back his skin and muscle and cracking open his ribcage for Neil to see the echoey void within him. 

He avoided Neil’s gaze by leaning over to pull Neil’s lip out of his mouth. He hoped Neil didn’t notice the way he hesitated. He really had to stop doing that. Neil never objected, but that meant nothing. You didn’t have to say no for it to be—

“You didn’t have to stay so long on the phone.” Neil interrupted his thoughts.

“But I did.” The last of Andrew’s cigarette crumbled in his fingers. 

“Thank you.” Neil said, breaking all barriers and pushing the two of them onto a new level of whatever the fuck this was. Andrew didn’t want to say _friendship_. Andrew didn’t have friends: Besides, he wouldn’t look at friends the way he looked at Neil. He hoped no one but Aaron had noticed. “It really helped.”

A truth for a truth. 

“I don’t mind.” Andrew spun his lighter between his fingers. “If it helps. You can call any time.”

“And if I just want to talk?” Neil grinned. 

_Kiss him._

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Don’t waste your credit.” 

“Wouldn’t be a waste.” Neil nudged their feet together. 

_Seriously, Andrew._

No. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t fuck up the first thing he didn’t actually want to fuck up. He still barely accepted his sexuality: His mental state was too fragile to think about what being gay actually meant. For him. Because of his past. Besides, Neil wasn’t in a good place for anything like that either. He probably wasn’t anything but straight. The cutest people always were.

Did Andrew just call him cute? He scoffed. _No._

“What are you disgusted at now?” Neil sounded amused. 

“Your idiocy.” Andrew deadpanned. 

“Right. Duh.” He leaned back against the windshield and closed his eyes. 

Andrew followed but let himself look at Neil instead. 

Neil Josten. The fucked up boy from Baltimore. Sixteen, sophomore, striker. Scarred beyond belief. Barely holding it together. Trying to, though. 

Andrew flicked his nose, curious. Neil only smiled, eyes still closed. “What?” 

“Nothing.” Andrew swallowed, torn between what he wanted to do and what he should do. He should forget about it. He wanted to pursue it. 

In true Andrew fashion, he simply ignored it instead. 

*

The team had a party on the Friday of the Thanksgiving weekend. Neil had never been to a party before. He had no idea what to expect. He didn’t even know if Andrew and Aaron were going. He supposed that was okay, so long as he could stick with Kevin. 

He hoped it was just the team, celebrating a pretty successful season. Plenty of wins, a few ties, two losses. 

Stuart dropped him off outside what was meant to be Matt’s place: In a moment of sheer panic, he almost couldn’t get out the car. 

“Text me when you want a ride home, okay?” Stuart made him promise. “Or whenever you want. Just let me know that you’re all good, yeah?”

Neil nodded. 

Walking up the path on his own was a series of steps, followed by a string of thoughts, weighed down by the physical reactions to something new and unfamiliar and threatening. 

He counted backwards from ten and promised himself he’d knock after one, but the door flew open on four. “Neil! You came!”

Matt pulled him into a restricting hug. Neil let him ruffle his hair. “Hi, Matt.”

“Welcome to my place.” The music wasn’t so loud that Neil couldn’t hear him, but there were bright pearls of laughter than echoed in the next room.

“Pretty big.”

“Keen observation, Neil.” Matt grinned. “Mom worked pretty hard for it.”

Neil looked up at him apprehensively. “Is she here?”

“Nah, she trusts we wont trash the place. It’s just the Foxes right now, but I think more people will come later. Cool?”

Neil nodded. “Cool.” 

Matt lead him into the front room. 

Dan was standing in the middle of a carpet with a bottle of something risen over her head. Renee was grinning behind her hands. Allison, draped over Seth’s lap, was cackling. Seth looked happier than Neil’d ever see him. Kevin was sipping on a beer and looked surprised at Neil’s entrance. Sheena was on the phone in the corner and Beau sat next to her, but he was laughing with the rest of them. 

“Matt!” Dan looked ecstatic to see him, as if he’d left for two weeks rather than thirty seconds. “Hand me a book, Shoulder Boy.”

Matt looked smitten. He threw her a magazine from the table he was closest to. Dan tried to clutch it to her side and held up what appeared to be whisky. Why did a bunch of teenagers have whisky? 

“See?” Dan wobbled. 

“We’re playing charades.” Allison said dryly. Neil realised she was addressing him. “She’s trying to be the Statue of Liberty but is drunk as fuck.”

Neil had never seen his captain in any other shape than firm and confident and asserting herself over the team. Now she was completely relaxed and stumbling around in circles, pulling Matt by his wrist and waving the bottle over her head. 

“She’s a wild drunk.” Kevin snorted, sipping on his beer when Neil came to perch on the arm of his chair. “Danielle Wilds. Fits, doesn’t it?”

Neil had nothing to say on the correlation between a drunk person’s persona and their last name. 

The front door started ringing more often when it hit nine until eventually Matt propped the door open. Neil mostly stayed where he was, now seeing someone in every corner of the house. He’d known what he agreed to when they said party. It still shook him. 

Instead of focusing on the increasing amount of people, he pulled out his phone and found Andrew and his’ messages. 

_you coming?_

Andrew replied with a little emoji—that’s what they were called, apparently—and Neil was pretty sure Andrew was rolling his eyes at him via text. He didn’t have time to reply because the phone was snatched out of his hands. 

“You have a _phone?”_ Dan screeched, laughing. “Neil! How could you not tell us?”

Neil wrapped his arms around his stomach with uneasiness. “It’s just for emergencies.”

“Who’s texted you?” She squinted at it. “ _Andrew?_ ” She looked at Neil. “So you’ll have Andrew’s number but not ours?”

“What did he say?” Neil asked, trying to snatch the phone out of Dan’s hand. She laughed and sprinted away. Neil’s stomach plummeted. Realistically, there wasn’t anything Dan could find on there. Unless she scrolled back in their conversation. She was too busy programming her own number under the name: _DAN DAN DAN DAN DAN DAN_. 

Neil watched his phone get passed around to his teammates, held too high over his head for him to reach, which was _totally_ unfair. 

“This is amusing.” A voice said lowly over his shoulder. Aaron was slipping into the room from behind him. Neil spun to see Andrew standing, with a small curl to his lips. Neil had to laugh and cover his face. 

_Breathe._

“They’re putting their numbers into my phone.” He shook his head. “They also took it before I could see what you texted me.”

“I just said _duh_.” Andrew reached up to pull at Neil’s hair. “Go get your phone back. They’re all drunk: Shouldn’t be hard.”

“They’re all much taller than me. You should be able to relate.”

“Fuck off, Neil.” 

Andrew’s fingers were warm where they brushed under Neil’s eye. It made Neil _giddy_ for some reason. He wanted to grab Andrew’s hand and lock their fingers together for no reason other than it would feel nice. He sometimes carefully traced the burn scars on Neil’s hands. It made him feel warm inside. 

Andrew pushed him a little and Neil paced back, making faces at him. 

His phone was easy enough to snatch, considering he’d disappeared for a moment and they let their guards down. He had eight new numbers, all under relatively ridiculous names. Renee’s was the only one somewhat recognisable, considering she’d put jut a smiley-face at the end. Renee wasn’t drunk though. 

She was very, very close with Allison, however, who had just come into the front room, looking upset. It looked like Renee was kissing under her ear: Neil was sure they were just whispering though. 

“Drink?” Andrew asked, a hand on Neil’s shoulder. It was a little heavy, there. It was grounding. 

“I don’t drink.” Neil glanced at him. 

“Soda, then.” Andrew pulled at Neil's shirt. “I hate this shirt and I want a beer. Let’s go.”

Neil followed him, pulling the shirt down over his hands. 

Andrew picked the lock that allowed them through to upstairs access and locked it behind them. They climbed the stairs and found the second room, collapsing on the same couch. Neil was against the armrest. If he put his legs up, they’d be across Andrew’s lap. That seemed oddly intimate, so he didn’t. 

“This isn’t what you’re meant to do at parties.” Neil watched him flick off the cap of the beer and take a sip before putting it down. 

“Who the hell has written rules about what you’re meant to do at parties? We showed our faces. Didn’t think there was anymore etiquette.”

Neil thought that was fair. He didn’t want to think so much about everything, though. So instead of wondering whether or not it was a strange impulse, he reached forward and asked: “Can I?”

Andrew looked at him. “Okay.” 

Neil threaded his fingers into Andrew’s hair. He didn’t pull like Andrew often did: he just kept combing his fingers. Andrew’s hair was soft. 

Andrew had his eyes closed and head inclined in Neil’s direction when he grumbled. “What are you doing.” 

“I don’t know.” Neil confessed. 

“Have you ever thought about—“ Andrew swallowed. Neil saw how it moved in his throat. “Have you ever thought about liking someone?”

“What do you mean?”

Andrew took Neil’s hand from his hair and held it only momentarily before pushing it away. “I meant girls, Josten. Are you really making me spell it out for you? Do you _like_ -like anyone?”

“Why does it have to be girls?” Neil drew his legs into a ball. 

Andrew stilled. “It doesn’t.” 

Neil looked at him. “I don’t know, Andrew. I’ve never been allowed to make friends, let alone find someone like that.” He shrugged. Andrew’s shoulders tensed. 

It was stuck in his throat. He didn’t even know what he was trying to say. Andrew was frozen and not looking at him. 

“It might be possible now, though.” Neil gestured vaguely. “I have time. But I don’t know what it’s meant to feel like. I freak out when my uncle is nice to me. How would I know if someone liked me? Plus, no one really would want to deal with how messy my head is, and it’s not like I have any aesthetic value—”

“Would you want them to tell you?” Andrew muttered, cutting across him. 

“I don’t know. Yeah. Probably? It’s not going to happen, though. Seriously, Andrew, look at me.” Neil gestured to his face. 

Andrew nodded and took his beer from the ground. Neil popped his soda. They drank together. 

Neil felt like there was something missing. Something unsaid. He simply charted it up to anxiety and let it be.

*

“Neil.” Wymack called. There was a quiet edge to his voice when he called Neil’s name compared to the others. Neil noticed it: Of course he did. He appreciates it, even though it embarrasses him to think that Wymack has to be conscious of the way he acts around Neil. 

He wonders if Wymack noticed or if Andrew said something. 

Neil slows his jog as he nears his coach, his legs doing their usual tremor when he stopped running. 

“Sit down.”

Neil’s posture was rigid with _fear_. What had he done? What was happening? Was he safe? Had something gone wrong?

Wymack was standing in front of him with one hand in his hair, looking out over the court, before sitting on the bench next to him. 

“I’m suspending you from games.” 

Neil shot up. “ _What?”_

Wymack spread his hands with a pleading expression. “Hear me out, Neil. You look like you haven’t even napped in a week. You’re incredibly weak and your body can’t keep up with your mind’s stamina. Or whatever you want to call it.” Wymack stood up with him and offered a hand. Neil wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that, but Wymack simply rested it on his shoulder. “This isn’t punishment.”

“Feels like it.” Neil muttered. No games? No _purpose?_

“I know. But I know how hard you push yourself during games. Until you’re on the upswing, I’m not going to endanger you. Okay?”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not about fairness.” Wymack pressed. “It’s about caution. I’m concerned about you.”

“I’m _fine_.” Neil urged. “Coach, please don’t bench me—“ 

“The team agrees to cover you.” Wymack cut him off with a stern look. “You’re benched until you can sleep through the night.”

It seemed impossible. Wymack let him off from practise early. He stumbled out and showered mindlessly, revelling in the burn of his calves and the rarely numbed state of mind. 

He walked home and took the long way to keep his mind clear, the cold winter snapping at his nose. He burst through the front door to find his uncle working quietly and stomped to his room. 

“Nate?”

“Not now!” Neil threw his bag next to his bed and himself onto it, face into the pillow. 

Now this, this was what actual teenagers got upset about. Not getting what they wanted. Getting frustrated. Getting angry. 

Neil looked at the ceiling. This could be a turning point, couldn’t it? Between spiralling further by not getting what he wants and still taking shit care of himself, or by doing something about it. 

But _what the fuck_. How the fuck did he manage that? His nightmares were so severe and almost unfailingly regular. They made him shake and throw up and scream in his sleep. He didn’t think they could get worse, but they’d been progressively getting more intense since therapy started. He wasn’t going to assume that dealing with his trauma was going to make it any easier at first: If it followed the pattern of the rest of his anxieties, it’d get much, much worse before it bettered. 

Neil let out a shaky sigh and turned onto his stomach, trying to block out the racing thoughts and steady his racing heart. 

Stuart opened the door only slightly to let Neil know he was there. “Dinner?”

“No, thanks.” Neil muttered into his pillow

He heard Stuart sigh and shut the door behind him. He walked to sit on the edge of Neil’s bed, by his legs. His hand rested on Neil’s knee. “What happened, Neil.”

“I’m not allowed to play games until I get some sleep.” Neil mumbled, face still hidden by cotton. 

“Reasonable.” Stuart allowed. He pulled gently at Neil’s shoulder until he was lying on his back. “Though I know it’s awful.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I know.” He brushed a gentle hand over Neil’s hair. Neil had seen this man fire three bullets into his father’s back after gauging out his eyes for killing his sister, but he couldn’t think of Stuart as anything but gentle. Generous and careful. He’d walked away from the rest of his family to raise his nephew. Neil wanted to change his name to Hatford for him, but the feds weren’t about to let a man who should have been convicted with murder walk around with his gang family’s name. “Has Betsy said anything?”

“I’m too reluctant to talk about it with her. Everything gets worse when I talk to her about it.” 

“Ask her about how to approach it, then. She might suggest daily sessions for a week. She might suggest going into hospital for that week so you can get some sleep whilst it happens. You can take these measures, Neil. We have the money. I know how hard it is to deal with something like this.” He laughed, but it sounded miserable. “Your family history is a _mess_ of mental health problems. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. But all I want is for you to be able to live out your life without this on your shoulders. As crap as it is to deal with it all at once, it’s about time you were given the chance to, okay?”

Neil didn’t know how to respond. He felt that strange, knotting sensation in his throat again. It was almost anger. Angry at himself for being like this. Angry at his parents for fucking him up the way they did. Angry at the world for letting it happen. 

Stuart had nothing else to say, so he left to let Neil think. 

Neil didn’t know what to do. 

*

Before everything went to shit, Andrew and Neil were suspended in this blissful place. Neither of them were really okay: Neil was trying and failing to sleep enough to play Exy and punishing himself brutally when he fell short, and Andrew was getting more and more and more distant by the day. 

The only one he still talked to was Neil. 

He could still breathe with Neil. He was still a kid with Neil. Fumbling over words around his crush, laughing— _actually laughing_ —nervously around him, telling him things he never thought he’d tell anyone and saying the thoughts he’d never thought he’d say outloud.

They sat in Andrew’s bathroom. Neil was dyeing his hair back to his customary, boring brown. Andrew combed through his hair to get every root and saw a bright, fiery red in the harsh lighting of his bathroom. Neil was sitting on the toilet, adamantly not looking in the mirror. He was looking up at Andrew instead, as he combed Neil’s dye-slick hair back away from his forehead. There was a smattering of little pimples in Neil’s hairline: Andrew was careful when whiping away the extra dye. 

“What’re looking at.”

“Your hair looks like a pink halo.” Neil smiled. 

Andrew’s stomach swooped. He tapped Neil’s cheek and left his fingers resting on Neil’s cheekbone for no fucking reason, because he was an idiot, because Neil was so pretty, because he was so violently self-destructive that he didn’t even _care_ anymore— “Idiot.”

Neil laughed. “Finished?”

“Careful not to spray it around. Don’t shake your hair like you do when you get out of the shower at practise.”

“What, my wet-dog thing?” Neil stood up. They were momentarily chest to chest. Andrew was _such_ a gay, horny teenage boy sometimes. 

Andrew nodded. “Your wet-dog thing. Don’t do it.”

He grinned. “I wont. Sit down.”

They were dyeing Andrew’s hair sky blue. The pink had almost washed out. Andrew hoped it would be a mix of lavender and sky-blue and pink. He’d always liked sunset-themed hair.

Neil hesitated before pouring dye out of the tube. “What if I fuck it up?”

“It’s literally impossible, Neil. You’re covering my whole head.”

He bit his lip. “I don’t want you to hate your hair.”

“I can fix it if I need to.”

“Why do you trust me with this?”

“Neil, this is your anxiety talking, not you. Stop. Dye my hair.”

He scowled. “You’re so mean.”

Andrew shrugged. 

Neil’s fingers on his scalp felt nice. Distantly, Andrew thought about Neil combing his hair at that party, when he’d told Andrew that he wasn’t straight and said he’d prefer if someone told him to his face rather than forcing him to read signals. A shiver went involuntarily down Andrew’s spine. There was no way Neil thought of him like that…

Afterwards, they sat on the edge of the bath and blew bubbles with the hand-soap. Neil’s laugh echoed around the bathroom. Andrew never wanted to leave this little bubble they had. 

Neil had stayed for dinner. Aaron had his sophomore cheerleader girlfriend over, who Andrew keenly disliked, because she seemed of the same brand that spread the worst of rumours. Aaron liked to smile when she was there, though, and Neil and her were in the same math class. Nicky seemed overjoyed that his cousins were forming close relationships. 

As always, Neil was picked up after dinner. 

Andrew wondered if he’d say yes to staying the night. Andrew wondered if that would give him enough time to work up to asking Neil. Or kissing him. 

Andrew wondered, wanted, felt and hoped. He could sense the impending crash of this strange affinity to being able to forget about all his problems with Neil, but he shoved the paranoia down and went to bed early.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please, again, be mindful of yourself as you read. a lot of the tags apply to this chapter, so be careful with yourselves. love, jemejem

Everything got worse when the semester finished. But Neil had never bothered counting the injustices served against him: Never tried. He’d never even realised that wasn’t what life was meant to be like, before being taken under Stuart’s wing and going to school again. 

But he could go without sleep, he could be starving, he could be physically convlusing with the stress and the nausea induced by his over-active mind, but he would give anything— _anything_ —to make sure no one he had come to care for was wronged again. 

“Andrew.” 

Andrew was shaking. His hair was a few shades paler than the sky-blue that they’d dyed it a week before the term had finished. Andrew had texted Neil a small _meet me at our park_ and nothing else. Neil had run there, almost forgetting a phone. His car was there. Andrew was sitting at the driver’s seat. 

Neil swallowed, twisting to face Andrew more from where he was sitting in the driver’s seat. He looked at the completely frozen nature of his posture, the glossed-over expression, the pursed lips. His hands were gripping the steering-wheel. 

“Did you text me so I could come and listen or come and be with you?” Neil asked. 

Andrew shook his head. _I don’t know_. 

“Okay.” An idea popped into Neil’s head and he reached into the glove box. A pack of cigarettes were there and a lighter. The idea of sparking one made Neil queasy, but he wasn’t the one who needed the help right now. “Do you want a smoke? I’ll light it for you.”

Andrew didn’t say anything for a while. That was okay. Neil waited. 

Eventually, he said: “You don’t like lighters.”

Neil arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t think I’d told you that.”

“It’s obvious.” Andrew muttered. 

“Dashboard lighters.” Neil said. “I’m fine with these.”

“You’re fine with _everything_.” Andrew snarled and his fingers fumbled. He moved for the first time in ten minutes to shakily pop the dashboard lighter from it’s socket. Neil’s stomach swooped involuntarily, but he was rolling his window. He flung it as far as he could. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Neil murmured. 

Andrew looked at him for the first time. Neil hated it. Neil hated the look in his eyes. “Well, I did.”

“You did.” Neil agreed. He twiddled the cigarette between his fingers. “Want me to light this?”

Andrew stared at it. 

“Use it like I do.” Neil suggested quietly. “The smell is grounding. I’ll hold it, if your hands are too shaky.”

Andrew breathed shallowly and quickly but he nodded. Neil lit it and held it up between them. Andrew stared at it. The window was still rolled down, but the trail of smoke wasn’t being directed towards it, so it filled the air between them. Neil shut his eyes and thought of his mother’s habit, of her old lighter that Stuart treasured, of Andrew’s lighter, of Andrew’s seemingly unending supply of the nicotine, despite it being highly illegal. Of Andrew on his car’s hood, Andrew on his bed, Andrew in the Exy court’s grandstand, Andrew sitting here with him. 

Neil opened his eyes to take a slow drag of the cigarette, rekindling the cherry’s flame. Andrew watched his every movement. Neil’s strange attachment to cigarettes was something grounding, but it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t consider it as an addiction. Andrew only worked through a pack a week, though Neil supposed he’d go through more if his supply wasn’t limited. 

Andrew opened up his hand to take the light from Neil, but his hands were so shaky that Neil grabbed it to steady it, holding his palm as he slotted the cigarette between his fingers. He only let go when Andrew went to take a drag. He switched it to his other hand and his hand fell over Neil’s. 

“Can I squeeze your hand?” He remembered his mother doing that. Andrew and him weren’t in a desolate motel, scared that his father had found them, though. Neil just wanted Andrew to know he cared.

“Why?”

Neil said exactly what he’d thought. Minus the part about his Mom. 

Andrew’s expression didn’t change. “You shouldn’t care.”

“Attachment is dangerous.” Neil agreed. “I wasn’t allowed anything like this. Too risky.”

“I can’t have anything like this.” Andrew said. “I can’t. I don’t deserve it.”

Neil squeezed his hand. “You do.”

He pulled his hand. “ _No_.”

“You have it, Andrew.” 

He swallowed. “I’m meant to be spending Christmas with my aunt and uncle.”

“Okay.” Neil said. 

“I can’t.” Andrew shook his head. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—“

“Andrew, you don’t have to.”

He shook his head. “They made friends with one of my foster families. The last one I had.” 

“Wymack will take you for the night, but I can spend the day with you.” Neil promised. 

“They didn’t believe me, even when I showed them the bruises.” 

Neil clasped his lips closed. “From what?”

“Tell me that if I tell you this, then you’ll tell me about your parents.” Andrew stared at his hands. “Tell me that you trust me just as much as I trust you.”

Two broken teenagers playing truth or dare. Or: Truth and dare. Because every truth told was a dare in itself. 

“I do.” Neil said, voice shaking. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, anyway.” 

The sun dipped further under the horizon by the time Andrew spoke. 

“I went to juvy when I was 13 for nearly killing my foster brother. I didn’t try and establish it was self defence because he—“ Andrew’s voice caught.

Neil closed his eyes. “You don’t have to say it.” 

Andrew didn’t say anything for a while, until: “My uncle said it was a misunderstanding. That he was a nice boy who’d never do anything to hurt anyone. He’s serving our country, training to be in the military. He’s honourable and perfect and a good Christian man. They invited him to Christmas last year, almost a year after I’d gotten out of juvy. Said that I should apologise to him, that he’s such a good man giving me a second chance after almost disabling him permanently, that I’m lucky I used to be able to call him my brother when he’s such a decent, forgiving man.” Andrew was gritting his teeth so hard that Neil could hear them grinding. “He hadn’t changed. He wanted the same shit. He tried. Nicky found me before anything could happen. He told his parents the conversion camps hadn’t worked and that he was still gay, bought a house with their gift money and took Aaron and me.” 

“He’s still alive?”

Andrew’s eyes flashed as he glanced up to Neil. “What?”

“I’ll kill him.” Neil said, calm. “I will.”

Andrew swallowed. “I can’t have Christmas at their house. What if he’s there again?”

“Convince Nicky not to go. Does Aaron know? Get him on your side.”

“Nicky wants to fix things with them. They’re his parents.”

“You don’t need parents.” Neil’s said. 

“Nicky’s not you.” Andrew rasped out, voice suddenly shaky. 

“I know.” 

They stayed in silence for a while. Neil was working out how to start his story. He supposes he should start at the beginning, but the beginning was long before he was alive, and he wasn’t sure when or what made things begin to go so horribly. 

He decided to work backwards. “You know my parents are dead.”

Andrew hummed.

“Neil Josten isn’t my real name.” 

Andrew sat up a little straighter, but still didn’t look at Neil. 

“My uncle. He killed my father. And—because—my father killed my mother.”

Andrew looked down at Neil’s hand which rested on top of his, and moved slightly. Neil went to take his away but Andrew’s fingers entwined with his. Andrew looked up, eyebrows risen. 

_Okay?_

Neil nodded. He took a deep breath and relaxed into his chair. “My uncle’s family is a gang. We don’t talk to them. Mom ran away to marry my dad, and Uncle Stuart left to look after me.”

“What about your dad’s family.” 

Neil shuddered. “He was just a businessman. A psychopathic, psychopathic businessman.”

“Did he do all that to you.” Andrew stared intensely at the cheek with the many burns.

“There’s a lot more.” 

Andrew eyed the black long-sleeve shirt. His hand tightened. He looked _angry_. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough.” Neil said, voice quiet. 

“From what.”

Neil closed his eyes. “Knives. Hot clothes-irons. Boiling water. Lighters. Hatchets. We had a cabin out in rural Pennysylvania. But mostly knives.” He bowed his head. “I ran away when I was ten. Or, Mom stole me. We ran. We hid in small towns and tried to keep away from him but he convinced Mom to come back eventually. It only meant he lost his shit and killed her out of anger. But she’d called her brother just in case. He was too late for her, but not too late for me.” Neil looked down at his scarred arms. “Dad took his time, though.”

They said nothing for a while. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and the next day was Christmas, and then there was 10 days left of the winter break before the second semester started. Neil wanted—He didn’t know what he wanted. He just needed Andrew to know that it would be okay. 

“Kevin knows.” Andrew broke the silence. “Doesn’t he?”

Neil nodded. “I came here because this was where Kevin had moved and I didn’t really know anyone else. I was meant to go to Evermore, like him. We knew each other when we were kids. He knows all the messy shit. He almost had a heart attack when I showed up, alive and looking like this.”

Andrew’s gaze was hooded and thoughtful. The silence was not calming tonight. Neil didn’t know what Andrew was thinking. He needed to know what he was thinking. He was the first person who Neil had to tell. He needed _something_.“My father is why I get scared shitless around Wymack.” Neil curled into a ball. “My mother is the reason I’m so paranoid. And that night is what keeps me awake.” 

“Neil, breathe.” 

Neil hadn’t even realised he’d started hyperventilating. Andrew’s other hand was pulling his shoulder towards him, curling around the back of his neck and holding him steady. He forced Neil to look at him and Neil focused on Andrew’s pupils that were slowly growing larger, counting to ten and breathing in and out in time with that. 

He laughed weakly when he finally sighed deep enough to stop his head from spinning. “Thank you.”

“You’re a mess.”

Neil looked at him. “Thank you for telling me. Let’s spend Christmas together.”

“They want me there.”

“Since when have you given a fuck about what your superiors say?” Neil demanded. “Doesn’t matter. I won’t let you go.” 

Andrew just looked at him. They were still forehead-to-forehead. Their breath smelled of cigarettes. Neil could feel Andrew’s heart through the hand on the back of his neck: It was beating that hard, that fast. 

He pulled back, dropping into his seat. “Drive me back to my place, please.” 

Apprehension. 

“I trust you. Don’t you believe me?”

Andrew pulled up outside Neil’s house ten minutes later, with Neil directing him. Neil looked at the small suburban semi and glanced at Andrew. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking. 

“Do you want to come inside?” 

Andrew looked at him. 

Neil shrugged. “I’m at yours multiple times a week. Only seems fair.” 

Neil unlocked the front door and shouldered inside. It wasn’t as much of a mess that he thought it was: Stuart must have cleaned before leaving for work. 

“Not much to see.” Neil glanced over his shoulder. “Messy enough to seem trustworthy, right?”

Andrew scrunched his eyebrows.

“It’s a thing.” Neil shrugged again. “I feel like people with impeccable living spaces have something to hide.”

“You’re so strange.” Andrew muttered. It was weird seeing him here. Neil just rolled his eyes. 

He went ahead of Andrew in hopes that five seconds would be enough to remove anything embarrassing. There wasn’t really anything in his room, but he hip-checked the clothes drawers shut. Andrew appeared in the doorway, looking around. Neil only had drawers, a bedside table with a lamp and two little bookshelves, a bed and a window. 

He flopped onto his bed and rolled onto his back. “It’s not much. I’m hoping to find a few things to put up. Discover interests. Get Exy magazines with posters. It reminds me too much of all the shitty motels and apartments that Mom and I would be in, where you couldn’t personalise anything. And you were never really in one place for long enough, anyway.”

Andrew sat on the bed next to him. “It was the same in the foster homes.” 

“Were any of them good?”

Andrew shook his head. 

Unsurprising. “You can lie down.” Neil said, moving over. “You look tired.”

Andrew shot him a dry look. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and hesitated.

“Nicky will call you if it’s urgent.” Neil hovered a hand over his wrist. He wouldn’t touch Andrew without explicit permission, like Andrew always spared for him. 

Andrew slowly laid back and stared at the ceiling. 

“What do you do when it gets bad?” 

Andrew turned his head to look at him. 

Neil shifted more onto his side. “Do you listen to certain music?”

Andrew nodded. 

“Do you want to?” 

Andrew mirrored him so that they were facing each other. “Why do you want to know?”

“Whatever helps, Andrew.”

He swallowed. “You do.”

Neil rolled his lips into his mouth. “Really?”

Andrew nodded slowly. 

“Well,” Neil said. “I’m here.”

“You’re not real.” 

“I hope I am.” 

“You’re a pipe dream.”

Neil didn’t know what he meant. “I’m right here.”

He pulled his earphones out of his pocket and untangled them slowly, carefully. His phone rested between them, and he gave an earphone to Neil. Midnight City played. Sometimes Andrew played this out-loud in his car. Neil didn’t mind it. He shared the music with him, but was able to hear him breathe slowly with the other ear. Andrew slowly closed his eyes. 

He wasn’t asleep though. “What was your name?”

Neil swallowed. “Nathaniel.”

“Neil is better.” He murmured, turning more into the pillow. 

Neil smiled shakily and closed his eyes. 

*

Andrew woke to a very, very rigid Neil next to him. He blinked, bleary eyed and groaned lowly: His contacts were skewered. You were _not_ meant to sleep in them. He pulled them out and reached into the bag next to the bed—Neil’s bed—where his glasses were in the front pocket. He fumbled to put them on but a noise distracted him. 

Neil gasped. 

Andrew sat up. “Neil.”

Neil was breathing raggedly, making low, distressed noises and knotting his fingers into the blanket they’d fallen asleep on top of. 

Andrew didn’t want to wake him like this, but he couldn’t let Neil sleep through this. He grabbed Neil’s shoulder and shook him, the other hand reaching to unwind one of Neil’s fists. “Neil, wake up.”

Neil gasped when his eyes opened and choked, looking at Andrew with sheer terror. He didn’t see Neil in this state too often, but it was familiar enough. 

_”Andrew?”_

“It was a nightmare, Neil. You’re safe.” 

Neil clambered up so that he was sitting to throw reckless arms around Andrew’s neck, and Andrew stilled. But Neil smelled like Neil always did, and he was shaking, and there was a fierce anger in Andrew’s stomach that was fighting the void residing within him, an overwhelming protectiveness. He hesitantly put his arms around Neil, but ended up hugging him just as tightly. 

“You’re okay.” Andrew promised when Neil drew back. He was sweaty and out-of-breath, nodding. “You’re okay.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

Andrew checked the time. There were four texts from Nicky and a phone call and one text from Aaron. Two from Betsy. 

“I should go.” 

Neil nodded. “Sorry.”

“Don’t.” Andrew warned. 

He nodded again. 

Andrew looked at him, curled in and small, biting his lip and lost in his own thoughts. Andrew wanted him not to think of any of what he’d suffered through ever again. He didn’t want Neil to hurt. Neil looked up at Andrew and smiled shakily, more for Andrew’s benefit than his own. 

“I’m fine, Andrew. Go.” 

Like shit did Andrew believe that. “You’d better text me.”

“I will.”

“Charge your phone.”

Neil grimaced. “You got me. I promise, though.” 

Andrew looked down. “I didn’t think I’d fall asleep.”

Neil’s hand hovered by Andrew’s cheek. He looked at it and nodded slightly. Neil’s hand was warm, if not a little sweaty. Fair. He’d just woken up from a nightmare. “I didn’t either. I wish you hadn’t seen that.”

“Same scene?”

Neil nodded. “It’s never the same details, but it’s the same thing.”

Andrew understood that. He understood the weird, haunting quality that dreams had. Making Andrew feel happy, making Andrew be crying, making Andrew asking for it, making other people watch. It was horrific and disgusting and Andrew didn’t understand why his subconscious had to torture him. He imagined it was the same for Neil. 

Andrew wasn’t going to think about that, thought. And he didn’t want Neil to be thinking about that. He wasn’t really thinking about anything, so he didn’t have any reason not to lean in. He’d already had his thumb on Neil’s lip, pulling it out from between his teeth like he often did. 

Neil’s lips were rough and chapped against Andrew’s, what with how much he chewed them. 

Neil didn’t move. He didn’t move back and he didn’t move forward and Andrew realised he hadn’t even _asked._ He drew back, heart racing in the way that only Neil made it race. 

Neil slowly opened his eyes. 

“I didn’t ask.” Andrew whispered. 

“So ask.” Neil said. 

“Was that okay?”

Neil nodded. 

_Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, he’s lying. He couldn’t possibly want this, want you, wanted you to do that. Look at what you’ve done. Look at what you’ve done!_

Andrew stood up: Neil dropped his hand from Andrew’s cheek, letting him go. Andrew couldn’t look at him and the maelstrom of emotion that Neil always was. It was too much for something as hollow as Andrew was. He grabbed his bag off the floor and fumbled with Neil’s bedroom door. Neil was behind him and followed him to the front door when Andrew finally opened it.

“Andrew, are you—“

“Thanks.” Andrew blurted out, blocking Neil from following him by closing the door. “Text me.”

“I will.” Neil looked concerned. “Andrew?”

Andrew tried his best not to look like he was running down the front path to his car. He almost dropped his keys twice and then did actually drop them when trying to turn on the ignition, swerving away from the curb. 

_Fuck._

*

Neil was positively shaken when Andrew vanished, so much so that he sunk into the living room couch and relived the thirty seconds in which everything had changed again and again. 

He needed to charge his phone. He needed to text Andrew and know if he was okay. But what did he even say? He didn’t have a spare moment to think about Andrew waking him up from a nightmare. He was just frozen with the strange bursting feeling in his chest when he remembered Andrew’s lips, drawn tight and hesitant, pressing quickly against his. Andrew’s fingers on his chin, his hand cupping Andrew’s cheek. 

Eventually, he stumbled back to his room. He stared at the bed and the crumpled blanket, where Andrew had been sitting, where he’d used his other hand to balance as he’d leaned in. 

Then he was _gone_. Had Neil said something? Done something?

He hastily plugged his phone into the charger next to his bed and waited for his phone to turn back on. He was expecting something from Andrew, but there was nothing. 

He’d text Neil when he got home. 

Neil rolled onto his back and let out a sigh and pretended it forcefully pulled any worries kept stale in his lungs. He never heard his phone buzz, so he kept focussing on the ceiling above him. More time passed. He assumed it’d only been twenty minutes, but a long, dragged out twenty minutes.

More time passed. 

Enough time passed that Stuart got home. Neil looked worriedly towards his phone but left it to charge. Stuart had brought home the left-overs they’d eaten at the mechanic. Neil ate out of a plastic container and watched the small television on the kitchen counter, but Exy couldn’t keep him from a buzzing mind, that was progressively getting more frantic. 

“Neil, you okay?”

Neil nodded jerkily. 

“Excited to get back into games next semester?” Stuart nodded to the game. Wymack had given him the green-light at the end of last term. 

Neil didn’t really think he was getting enough sleep now to go back. He was forcing himself to go back to sleep after he was woken up, and getting into bed earlier because he had no schoolwork left. Maybe it was increasing his hours, but it didn’t feel like it. Being repeatedly woken up was just as exhausting as not sleeping at all. 

That night threw all his efforts out the window, pacing the room and deliberating whether or not to call him. He passed out from pure exhaustion hours later, but wasn’t given much time to sleep. 

Because, at seven o’clock in the morning, he received a call. 

_Incoming Call: Andrew_

Neil held his breath as he answered. 

“Hey, Neil.”


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i luv angst and cliffhangers

Neil was immediately on high alert. This was Nicky, calling from Andrew’s phone. That meant he didn’t have his phone. That meant trouble. That meant Andrew was in danger. Had he totalled his car last night? On accident? On purpose? Had Neil failed to save him from running out the door? Had he overdosed on his meds? On purpose? Where was he? Was he okay?

“Hi.” Neil said, voice scratchy but mind racing at it’s heightened speed of a billion miles an hour rather than just a million. 

“Andrew told me to contact you. He’s in hospital.” 

Neil’s vision speckled. “He’s what?” 

“He’s alive and safe.” Nicky promised. “I know you’re a good friend of his, but trust me: He’ll be okay.”

“He hasn’t been okay for years. He’s never been okay. He doesn’t know how that works.”

Nicky didn’t say anything. Neil mumbled an apology under his breath and doubted Nicky heard him. 

“He said you can come visit, if you like.”

“Yes.” Neil stammered. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there after breakfast.”

What a way to start his first Christmas Eve trying to achieve normalcy. He grabbed his phone and snatched the first black shirt he could seem, threw on jeans and socks and hopped as he tugged on his sneakers. 

“Hey, this is early for you, isn’t it? I was going to ask if you needed to go Christmas shopping.” Stuart didn’t look up from his paper, sipping on his coffee.

Neil was frozen. He remembered a kiss and an apology and a thank you and the screech of car tires against tarmac. “Andrew’s in hospital.”

Stuart’s head jerked up. He didn’t know Andrew personally, but swung by his house multiple nights a week, some weeks. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m going now.”  
“Need a lift?”

“I don’t know where the hospital is.”

“I’m assuming it’ll be Columbia’s public hospital.” Stuart drained his mug, standing up. “Is he alright?”

Neil nodded. Numb. 

“Hey, kid. Nate. It’s going to be okay.” He rounded the table and reached for Neil’s shoulders. He flinched back. 

“Don’t call me that.”

Stuart’s gaze darkened with confusion. “What, kid?”

“No— _Nate_. He—He—“

“Hey, Neil. Breathe. I won’t call you that. What do you want me to call you?”

“ _Neil._ ”

“Okay. Alright. Perfect. Neil it is. Why didn’t you say anything before?” Stuart gently placed his hands on Neil’s shoulders. “Don’t answer. Don’t worry. Can you breathe, please?”

“Drive me to the hospital.” Neil’s voice was a wheeze. He was shaking. He needed to see that Andrew was okay. Now. 

The jingling of Stuart’s keys was almost enough to tip him over as they walked out to the old car. Neil sat, so still that every bump they rode over made him feel like his body would shatter upon impact. 

He prayed and prayed and prayed and _prayed_ that Andrew would still be alive and grateful to see him when he got there. Stuart asked him if he needed him to stay, but Neil shook his head. He was told to text when he needed a lift home and squeezed Neil’s hand. 

Neil stood in front of the hospital’s reception desk for a minute before the woman rose an eyebrow, getting impatient. 

“I need to see Andrew. Minyard.” Neil choked out. 

She rose up the other eyebrow when she was looking at the computer screen. “He’s on restricted visitation.”

“What does that mean.”

“Most people in the mental ward are. Only certain people are allowed to see him. There’s seven people on this list. Nicky Hemmick, his guardian. Aaron Minyard, his brother. Kevin Day, Renee Walker, David Wymack, all classed as friends. Betsy Dobson, his psychologist.” Neil’s heart plummeted when she sounded like she reached the end of her list. “And Neil Josten. Relationship was undisclosed.”

“I’m Neil Josten.”

“ID?”

Neil fumbled with his school card. The woman rang for a nurse. The man was stony-faced as he surveyed Neil with distaste and lead him through the back. The mental ward had three locked doors, and Neil heard someone screaming when they got through the second. It was a woman on the floor, curled in a ball. Neil was directed into a smaller corridor with _Adolescents_ printed on a sign overhead. 

“This hospital has the best mental ward in the state. You’re lucky he got in.”

“He’s in hospital. How the fuck is he lucky?”

The nurse shrugged. He gestured to door 662 and turned to leave Neil on his own. Neil almost let himself hesitate: If he did, he’d walk back out and probably never see Andrew again. He pushed down the door handle and let himself in. 

Nicky was sitting by Andrew’s bed, watching the tv mounted in the corner. Aaron was on his phone, drinking a coffee. They both jolted to look at Neil. 

Andrew’s gaze was slow as it slid over to him. In his eyes, Neil recognised the flicker of emotion. He watched Andrew look at Aaron. 

Aaron nodded. “Nicky. Breakfast time.”

Nicky had gotten to his feet at some point in time. He glanced at Aaron. “Huh?”

“Let’s go.” Aaron pulled Nicky by his sleeve and yanked him out of Neil’s reach when Nicky offered a hand. “ _Don’t_ touch him, moron.”

The door closed with a quiet click and Neil covered his face with his hands.

“Hey.” Andrew said. “Neil.”

Neil wasn’t breathing. 

“I can’t get out of bed, Neil. Come here.”

“I’m so sorry.” 

“Fuck off, Neil.” Andrew said. “Come here.”

Neil laughed miserably and shuffled over to Andrew’s bedside. “Contradictory statements.”

Andrew always had seemed like an empty shell. Neil saw a lot in his eyes, though: Not just the facade that he was so good at keeping up. Now he saw regret and apprehension and hope and relief. 

Neil was relieved too. There were bandages around Andrew’s forearms, but everywhere else seemed pretty safe, so he leaned in to wrap his arms around Andrew’s neck and rested his forehead on Andrew’s shoulder. 

Neil mumbled into Andrew’s hospital gown. “I was so worried. I was _so_ worried.”

Andrew nodded a little, shuffling over on the hospital bed. It was plenty big for two small teenage boys. Neil rested his cheek on Andrew’s shoulder, desperate to know what he was thinking whilst being completely content to sit here in silence too. 

“Did you kiss me because you wanted to do it once before you went, or was kissing the final straw?”

Andrew considered his answer. “Both.”

Neil nodded. “Do you regret it?”

Andrew shook his head and mumbled. “I regret nothing.”

Neil lifted his head to look at him. Andrew slowly returned the gesture. “So you’d do it again?”

Andrew’s hospital robes rustled when he moved even the slightest bit. It was rather distracting. He nodded, movement minute and careful. “If I’m allowed.”

Neil didn’t know when it changed, but it made a lot of sense. Maybe it had always been like this, and Neil was just an idiot. That seemed possible. “You are.” 

They hooked their pinkies together. Scarred knuckles and knobbly knuckles. Neil listened to Andrew breathing. It was very steadying. 

“It was just so much.” Andrew muttered, finally. “I shouldn’t have done it then. You were having a panic attack—“

“Hey. Shut up.” Neil said gently. “Forget that. I was fine.”

Andrew looked at him pointedly. 

“I was _okay_.”

Andrew accepted that and settled back against Neil’s shoulder, tracing the scars on Neil’s wrist with his fingertip. They watched the cartoon on TV until Neil fell asleep. Andrew woke him up before the nightmare’s images formed hard edges and clear pictures. Neil almost kissed his cheek, and then threw out all inhibitions and did it anyway. Andrew blushing was a new and impossibly adorable phenomenon, and Neil had to do it again. Andrew pushed him off the bed but let him clamber back on, and let all their fingers intertwine this time. 

When Neil slipped back out of the room, Nicky grabbed him by the shoulders. “Did he talk to you?”

Neil frowned. “What?”

“Andrew. Did he say anything to you?”

He blinked. “Of course he did.”

Nicky sighed, relieved. “Thank god. The doctors want answers and he’s been refusing to talk to anyone, even Betsy. Stay, won’t you?”

Neil swallowed and nodded. 

Andrew wasn’t discharged for Christmas, nor the day after. He spent his first day free day at home, texting Neil. Three days after Christmas, the Foxes met up. Most of them had heard about Andrew but said nothing. They scrimmaged for a little and sat in a circle for presents with those who wanted to participate. Neil hadn’t put his name in to participate, but ended up getting some little fox-mascot themed gifts regardless. He attached the new keyring onto his bag, and grinned at Andrew when he rolled his eyes at the bright orange socks. He’d definitely wear them soon, just to spite him. 

He stayed by Kevin, who was celebrating his first Christmas with his actual father, Wymack, and finished the rest of his English reading with Andrew peering over his shoulder. Aaron got bored of cards with Matt and Seth and tugged at Andrew’s sleeve to go home. Neil almost instinctively entwined his fingers with Andrew’s when they stood up to leave. The chorus of well wishes kept his stomach warm.

At Andrew’s, Nicky handed Neil a hot cup of cocoa with a minimal amount of marshmallows and sugar, like he preferred, and offered some of their Christmas pudding, the recipe traditional from his father’s German roots and his technique getting better every year. It was like a fermented fruit cake so Neil had a little slice and a few strawberries. 

Andrew, though, was getting impatient with him staying to talk with Nicky in the living room. He left, and Neil excused himself to follow a few minutes later. He stopped briefly by the bathroom to pull on the knee-high orange socks decorated with little embroidered foxes up to his knees, and grinned when he pushed the door open. 

“Hi.”

Andrew was openly disgusted by the socks. Neil laughed. 

“Don’t you like them?”

“I hate them.” He was closer now, reaching down to snap the socks against Neil’s calf. When he stood up straight, they were chest-to-chest. “I hate you, too.”

Neil shrugged. “That’s okay.”

“Yes or no?”

“To?”

Andrew swallowed. “A kiss.”

“Yes.” 

Andrew hesitated. 

“I don’t lie to you.” Neil cocked his head. “Do I?”

He shook his head. 

“Would it be easier if we’re sitting down?” He wondered, out loud. 

Andrew shrugged. 

“Now you’re being indecisive like me.” Neil frowned. Andrew’s hesitation must have meant he saw something in Neil. Or he doesn’t want to. Because he’s scared, or because he’s regretted his decision to ask, or kiss Neil in the first place. Or—“You don’t have to, you know—I don’t mind if we just go back. If you want. I’m okay with anything, so long as you’re okay and so long as you like it, and I just want you to know that it’s okay and I—“

Andrew kissed him to shut him up, and Neil realised that it was a very effective method of doing so. He felt suddenly unsteady and knew that Andrew’s hands were a safe place to put his own, so he circled his fingers around Andrew’s wrists. 

They were just teenage boys, standing in the middle of Andrew’s room, with no clue what to do. Wait, no, that was a lie—Andrew definitely knew what to do. He moved a hand from Neil’s jaw down to Neil's back and pulled him in a little close, and Neil’s heart was _racing_. How did he know how to do this? Neil had never done this, not ever, not even with a girl. He pulled back, and Andrew froze immediately. 

“I’m sorry.” Neil confessed. Andrew frowned. “I’ve never done this and I don’t know how—“ 

Andrew pinched his lips together and shook his head. “Shut up.”

“I’m probably going to bite your tongue. If you try that.” Neil flushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut—“ Andrew grabbed his shoulders and pushed him backwards. Neil tripped and fell, but was strategically on Andrew’s bed. Andrew fell on top of him. “— _up.”_

“Okay.” Neil whispered, smiling.

“I can’t believe I’m going to kiss someone wearing knee-high fox themed socks.” Andrew muttered. He was lying on his elbows instead of up on his hands because it was too painful: It meant their entire bodies were pressed together and Neil was keenly aware of it. 

“I can’t believe you aren’t already kissing the someone wearing knee-high fox themed socks.” 

Andrew arched an eyebrow. “Eager.”

Neil flushed. “Maybe.” 

Andrew kissed him, and Neil couldn’t think about anything else. It might be somewhat addictive, Neil thought, when so much of his life was taken up by his thoughts. If kissing Andrew was enough to silence them, then Neil would never want to stop. That, obviously, wasn’t the only motivation for this. Neil didn’t understand how any of it worked, but that it made a lot of sense. And didn’t. But it made more sense than it did, and the questions it asked lead to exciting things, and didn’t spark fear in Neil like having questions usually did. 

He didn’t even care if he was gay or not. He hadn’t ever felt this way about someone: Why did it matter if he was a boy? It just mattered that it was Andrew. Right?

Maybe he should be worried about people finding out. About his teammates, especially the ones who already suspected Andrew was gay and gave him endless shit. Now that Neil thought about it, Andrew wasn’t really subtle. He didn’t dress in cardigans and pastels, the only stereotype about gay people that Neil remembered. He did dress nicely, though. All the time. Neil liked the turtle-neck sweaters. They made his shoulders look nice. 

_So I have been crushing on him for a while._ If appreciating someone’s shoulders was crushing on them. There was probably more than that, though.

“I can hear you thinking.” Andrew muttered. Having someone talk against your own lips was new and weird and Neil was suddenly hot all over. 

“Sorry.”

Andrew shuffled around, just to poke Neil’s cheek. “Stop it.”

Neil opened his eyes. Andrew was right there. He could feel Andrew’s chest expanding and shrinking when he inhaled and exhaled. He felt drowsy and warm. Like warmed honey. How long had they been there? It felt like hours. 

Andrew slid off Neil mostly, but Neil lifted his head for Andrew to put an arm in the crook of his neck, and let his hand rest gently on Andrew’s hip. Andrew nodded, and Neil knotted his fingers in the material of Andrew’s sweater. Their legs were tangled together. Neil was so comfortable. 

“Does this make us boyfriends?” Neil angled his forehead towards Andrews.

Andrew nodded. “If you want to.”

Neil smiled hesitantly. “Yes.” 

Andrew looked down. Neil could almost feel the weight pressing down on his shoulders, the weight of something he needed to say at the back of his throat. It was strange to know the little mannerisms of someone so well that he could understand what was going unsaid. 

“I’m not doing this because I pity you.” Neil said. “Nothing about the last few days has changed anything.”

“Did you realise this is what you wanted until I kissed you?” Andrew asked. 

“You know how much of a mess everything is.” Neil could inch closer a little and press their noses together. So he did. Andrew blinked. “I don’t realise anything until after it’s happened. Or a long time after. I didn’t call them anxiety attacks until you did, though I’ve been going through them for years.”

“Idiot.” Andrew said, voice hushed.

Neil nodded. “I know.”

Andrew moved to put a finger over Neil’s lips. “No. You’re not meant to agree with me.”

Neil smiled hesitantly. “Okay.” He reached out to gently brush his fingers up Andrew’s forearm. “How is it healing?”

Andrew closed his eyes. “Okay enough.”

Neil poked his cheek until he opened his eyes again. “Are you letting them heal?”

Andrew nodded. 

“Good.” Neil leaned in to kiss his nose, this time. He could hear Andrew swallow audibly. “Do you want me to ask why?”

Andrew thought about it for a moment. Then he mumbled something inaudible. Neil prompted him to repeat what he said with risen eyebrows. He cleared his throat. 

“Maybe it will be easier to talk about if you do.”

“You’ve seen Betsy, haven’t you.”

“Three times.” Andrew agreed. 

“Good.” Neil gently combed his fingers through Andrew’s hair, and thought of the weird compulsion to do the same thing at the party. Now he understood. Softness wasn’t something that came naturally to either of them—unless it was with the other. “Why, Andrew?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you when I was down so low. But I thought that getting it out, or telling you, would make the weight lighter.” Andrew shook his head. “Then I did it without your consent, and even if you told me it was okay, I couldn’t accept it. It all just crashed. I didn’t deserve you, you’d never want to see me again, Drake was going to come back and take me away and that _this_ —“ He took a deep breath. “—That this would never go away. And I was working up to killing myself completely. I think I actually was.”

Neil closed his eyes and couldn’t imagine his life without Andrew, let alone how it would feel dealing with Andrew’s suicide. He couldn’t comprehend it.

“But it was like you were there, telling me to put the knife down. So I called out to Nicky.”

“I’m glad.” Neil pressed his lips against Andrew’s as he spoke, fingers threaded in Andrew’s to pull him closer. He wanted to be closer. Close enough that Andrew wouldn’t forget what he said. “I’m very glad.”

Andrew let Neil kiss him first instead, for the first time. It was definitely messier when they were lying on their sides. 

“Don’t go.” Neil whispered. 

“I won’t.” Andrew said.

It sounded like a real promise.


	9. Nine

Betsy breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. Neil copied. “Ready?”

The room was very clean. Neil and Betsy had strewn their things across it as soon as they’d entered. The hospital had seemed skeptical at their need for the room, but Betsy had been adamant. The blinds were drawn but the television was on in the background. 

“Never.” Neil said, honestly. He never thought he lied to Betsy, but he’d omitted so much of the truth that her entire image of him was practically bullshit. “But I’m sick of the nightmares.”

Betsy nodded. She had put aside her pen and paper and they were both sitting on the floor. The poker-game between them would remain untouched. Neil hadn’t wanted to fiddle with her playing cards and accidentally damage them, so he had his clicker-pen from months back. He was already sweating. 

“You’ve told Andrew.” Betsy reminded him. “You can pretend you’re just retelling him. Or you’re talking to a brick wall. Whatever helps.”

Neil breathed in, clicked the clicker, breathed out, clicked again. “Okay.”

Betsy folded her fingers together and waited. 

Neil told her. It was a longer, more difficult story than the one he’d told Andrew. Andrew hadn’t wanted the personal reflection or the emotion, the small moments and the details. Neil flayed his own back, laying out the workings of why he was the way he was: He went from why it was hard for him to stay in a room that only had one entrance all the way to why he never looked at people in a romantic or sexual sense. He told Betsy his mother’s regrets and paranoia and the way she’d treat him when she was too inebriated to remember that it was her son and not her ex-husband. He told her about Kevin and Riko and a broken childhood, and told her about the scars under his clothes, the real colour of his hair. He told her about the conflicting feelings around his father as a child, hating him for the bad moments and loving him in the good ones, wishing for his ‘real’ father to come back when he transformed into the constantly angry, sadistic bastard he had been. He connected it to his mother and saw a similar pattern. He told Betsy about his father’s personal assistants, who seemed to feel important in his mind, but he couldn’t remember what injustices he’d faced at their hands. He remembered names. His mother had forced him to forget all but one of them, Lola, who she must have found with Neil’s father on multiple occasions to have incited such anger. 

It took a long time. He’d look up and remember who he was speaking to, forget himself, be unable to speak. She’d help him drink water and keep his breathing steady. When he ate his dinner and threw it back up that night, Stuart would clean out the bucket and she would ground him once more. He couldn’t stand any noise and cowered with every loud and sudden sound from outside the corridors, but he was drowning in silence. He tried to listen to music Andrew had given him, to text him, to let him take his mind off it, but there wasn’t any distracting him from the reality: He was wading through blood and grime and awful, awful truths. 

Betsy didn’t look tired, not even when Neil had to be sick again at four in the morning, and when they finally decided to give him some sleeping pills at five. He held down breakfast when he woke up, and they took a walk outside. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Emptied out.” Neil muttered. “So, _so_ tired.”

“Hopefully it will get easier. We’ve acknowledged it. We have to organise it and file it away, now. Otherwise it’s going to remain a demanding mess of paper all over your desk for years and years, piling up and getting heavier and messier.”

Neil nodded. 

The afternoon was with Andrew, out in the smoker’s garden that he’d walked past with Betsy that morning. Andrew let Neil hold his hand. They said nothing, but Neil went back into his next session with Betsy a lot more steady. Andrew stayed with him through dinner and refused to leave when Neil felt nauseous, forcing Neil to look at him and concentrate on him instead of the churning in his stomach. 

Neil go out of hospital on the Tuesday and went back to school on Thursday. His team welcomed him with open arms. He was weak and stumbling, but Exy was freeing. He felt exposed around everyone and couldn’t get his body to understand he wasn’t threatened: None of his classmates knew anything more other than he was ill over the weekend. Which was true. 

The immediate affects of working through it all at once were rough and exhausting. He kept Andrew awake longer than he should and everything was both clearer and hazier. It was like looking at a single thing had never been clearer, but all it’s surrounding were hazardously blurry. Neil hated it.

“Snap out of it.” Andrew said. 

“I _can’t.”_ Neil grit his teeth and wrapped his arms around his stomach in an effort to ease the pain of hunger. 

Andrew nodded and took approach B, C, D, skipped to H, until he just held Neil and didn’t let him go. 

Neil was safe with him. He closed his eyes and trusted that he it would get easier, and Andrew would be beside him every step of the way. 

*

 

Luther was standing at the front door, and Andrew wasn’t going to open it. 

“Andrew,” He ground out. “You are being immature.”

“Oh, _I’m_ being immature.” Andrew mocked. “Says the blind-sided Christian who’s coming to apologise for being wrong, just because he doesn’t want to go to Hell.”

Nicky looked ill at Andrew’s side, head hung in shame. Andrew could see the gears working in his head. He still wanted to patch things over with his family, and he knew his mother would accept him eventually: It was his father who was practically immovable. 

Aaron was a stone-cold presence behind Andrew, arms crossed. Andrew knew his stance on this, though, and that it wasn’t going to change because of a middle-aged repenting Christian. Andrew might have killed their mother but he didn’t regret it. Aaron was safe now, his demons tucked safely into the ground and at peace. 

And apparently Andrew’s were too. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me whilst Drake was on trial?”

“I couldn’t believe it.” Luther said, talking through the crack Andrew had allowed the door to open. 

“Of course you could believe it. If you can believe in a mythical figure, you can believe what you saw with your own two eyes. You didn’t want me to testify because then he wouldn’t have had a chance if I’d come forward.”

“Maybe I didn’t want you to go through something that would pull everything into the open, Andrew. I know it’s been hard for you.”

Andrew’s stony silence must have radiated a strong enough message for even Luther to interpret. 

“Believe me, Andrew.”

“Why should I?” Andrew said, his monotonous, apathetic voice developing a sharp edge. “You never believed me.”

Luther had nothing to say to that. 

“Dad.” Nicky said. “You will not be forgiven here. Leave.”

“Nicholas.” Luther snapped. Nicky flinched. “You wouldn’t know what forgiveness was even if it was presented to you, left in your hands, with a big, bright label. You cannot talk of how to forgive or be forgiven. Not with the sins you still choose to commit.”

“Don’t talk to Nicky like that.” Aaron was standing closer now, hand grabbing Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky was tearing up, but there was determination in his eye. He put his hand over Aaron’s.

“Aaron,” He said, gently. He looked back up. “You cannot talk to me about forgiveness. You are meant to forgive a sinner, as much as the sinner is tasked to beg for it. I have begged and begged and _begged_. I do not deserve the shit you gave me, or continue to give me. You say that you know it has been hard for Andrew, but I did not see you try and contact me after he was committed to hospital, even though you must have known. Mom doesn’t keep things from you. You stand aside and allow someone’s faith as an excuse to commit the most horrible, disgusting crime. You _are_ going to Hell, and I hope that Mom sees sense and leaves you for the Devil. Drake is going to jail, with all the truth that you covered up revealed to the community. You can claim innocence to your church and your little community, but you can’t claim that here. Please leave. And don’t—“ Nicky choked on his anger. “Don’t come back.”

Andrew closed the door. 

The cousins all looked at each other. 

“He’s finally in jail.” Aaron had let out a sigh of relief.

“He’ll die there.” Nicky sounded shaken, but his voice had a strange tone to it. Liberated. 

“Pizza?” Andrew couldn’t stand this any longer. The last thing he wanted to think about was his mess of foster homes and the ugly memories they brought back. His twin and his cousin both nodded. Andrew took the opportunity to leave. 

He called Neil first. 

“Something wrong?” Neil was sitting up from being in bed. He would be trying to read. Listening to music Andrew suggested to him. Or maybe the things he was discovering for himself. He was pretty sure Dan and Allison were trying to get him to listen to Beyonce. 

“Drake’s going to jail.”

Neil took a deep breath. “And?”

“And I don’t know what to do with that information.”

“Text Betsy?” Neil offered. 

“Maybe.” 

He hummed. “You’re never going to see him again.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s no longer a threat to you, or Aaron, or Nicky.”

“Yes.”

“You can enjoy the satisfaction of proving Nicky’s parents wrong.”

“Basking in it.”

Neil laughed softly, abruptly. “Okay. Do you think you’re safe?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Andrew chewed on his lip, deliberating on whether or not to ask Neil over. Would it help if he was here? Or would it be too much? Andrew didn’t want to push himself. He could feel other’s fingernails scraping down his skin, so lightly that it felt like a phantom of a touch. It _was_ a phantom of a touch. 

Like Neil could hear what he was thinking, he said: “Will you call me later?”

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

“Stay.” Andrew spat it out, like he was choking on it. “For a little bit.”

“Of course.” Neil always sounded like he was smiling his little, knowing smile. Andrew shut his eyes and pictured Neil being there, helping him to ground himself in reality and hold onto what he knew. 

He didn’t order pizza for another hour. 

*

It was weeks after the second semester had started once again when Neil slept an entire night nightmare free. It also happened to be the first time he’d stayed the night at Andrew’s. They just won another game and he was exhausted. A spare mattress had been set up on the ground, but Neil had almost fallen asleep in Andrew’s bed anyway. He hadn’t wanted to leave: Andrew was warm and the other bed was cold. But, there was no realistic way they’d be able to sleep in the same bed. Not for a while. 

He woke up, groggy and heavy, having slept so deeply that he’d slept through till the morning. Andrew was sitting up against the headboard, scrolling on his phone. He’d glanced at Neil when Neil had groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“Finally.” Andrew grunted. “What took so long?”

Neil blinked for a little while, unable to comprehend what Andrew had said, until: “I didn’t have a nightmare.” Neil said, sitting up. It made him want to smile, so he did. He covered his face and tried to rub the smile away but he couldn’t. Relief was sweet and welcome. 

Andrew nodded. “I know.” He shuffled to slide off the edge of his bed and knelt in front of Neil. 

“Morning.” Neil looked up at him and smiled. “Yes or no?”

“Yeah.” 

It always started small and ended up with Neil on his back with small laughs and even smaller smiles shared between them eyes closed and trust satisfied. 

Cold fingertips on Neil’s stomach surprised him enough to still completely. Andrew paused. Neil cracked open an eye but could only hum in question. 

“Sorry.” Andrew pulled back, but only as far as Neil’s reach let him. 

“It’s cold. Don’t go.” 

“I want to see them.” Andrew murmured. 

Neil pushed up into a sitting position, but Andrew was still kneeling either side of his legs, so he pulled his shirt over his head and laid down instead. 

Andrew was immediately infuriated, and Neil felt immediately uncomfortable. It was just Andrew. It was only Andrew. His eyes were jumping from scar to scar, seeing what hurt him. His fists were clenched. Neil reached out to carefully open each finger and intertwine their hands, pulling him back down. 

“I’d kill him.” Andrew said, into the skin under Neil’s ear. “If he was alive, I’d kill him.”

“Well he isn’t.” Neil remembered when he’d said the same thing. “So you don’t have to.”

“You know I would.”

Neil also remembered about Andrew’s mother’s unfortunate fate. “I know.” He looked down at himself and the angry red and white landscaping of his chest. “Now you’ve seen it.”

Andrew nodded. Neil saw conflict in his expression as he leaned down to press his lips against the gunshot wound by his collarbone. And then the knife mark below it. Further down, until his lips were brushing along the gravel scarring across his ribs and the carvings on his stomach. 

“Andrew?” 

Neil was pretty sure that both of them were fully aware of what was happening: They were teenage boys who’d just woken up and happened to like each other. A lot. It was bound to happen. 

“Not today.” 

Neil’s heart skipped. Not today didn’t mean not _ever_. “Okay.”

“God, you’re horny.” Andrew smirked. Just a little bit. Neil rolled his eyes. 

“And you’re not?”

“Fuck off.” Andrew caught Neil’s snark in a kiss, fingers hot and gripping Neil’s waist. 

“Thank you.” Neil murmured, arms locked behind his neck. 

“What now?” He didn’t sound impressed. 

“For not looking at me like a freak?” Neil nudged their foreheads together, forcing Andrew to stop and look at him. “For letting me stay over. For staying. For this. For telling me to go to Betsy, months and months and months ago. For all of it, Andrew.”

Andrew looked right at him. “I thought you were a lost cause.”

“So why’d you bother?”

“‘Cause you’re hot.”

“ _Andrew_.”


	10. Ten - Bits And Bobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a few little bits that didn't fit into the story line. Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! <<33

_Andrew Bitching To Aaron About Neil But Aaron Knowing_

“For fuck’s sake.” Andrew rolled his eyes as he dropped into the car, where Aaron was already waiting. “He still won’t let me drive him home.”

“But you hate him.”

“But he lives in a shit area and it’s fucking pitch black. He doesn’t even have a fucking smart phone to use a torch.” Andrew shook his head. “Idiot.”

“You don’t know where he lives. He might live in a nice caucasian cul-de-sac.”

“Aren’t you one of the shits who thinks he’s trailer trash?”

“How can you not at least suspect? He’s got all that fucked up shit about his face and hands. Something’s wrong there.”

“I know he’s not trailer trash.” Andrew shoved his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t say that shit about him.”

“You hate him.”

“Yeah.”

“So why are you defending him.”

“Because he’s an idiot.”

_“That’s not a valid reason.”_

“And what is yours for shitting on him like that?”

“I’m not shitting on him.” Aaron huffed. “Well. I am. But it’s not like he dispels the rumours.”

Andrew hummed. “Because he’s so blind that he doesn’t even realise there are rumours. Honestly. Thickheaded jock.”

“You really hate him, huh.” 

“Yep.” Andrew cracked his knuckles. He thought of badly dyed roots and piercing blue eyes. Of course he’d found that whole mess insanely attractive: His bone structure was like— _unfair_. And his eyes. His fucking eyes. 

And then Andrew had gotten to know the mouth behind the lips and now Neil’s flighty nature and surprising snark had Andrew flinching like Neil was scraping nails down a chalk board every time he opened his mouth to talk. 

“Right.” Aaron drawled. 

It was at this very moment that Andrew realised Aaron had probably connected the dots. “I _do_ hate him, you know.” He insisted. 

Aaron put up his hands. “Alright, alright. You hate him. You absolutely hate him. So much so that your eyes can’t help but follow him around, and you perk up whenever he says your name, and you glare at him as he’s drinking water to try and telepathically get him to choke, and not because he’s hot. Definitely. Of course.”

“Fuck you, Aaron.”

Aaron grinned. “No, you totally hate him. Duh. How could anyone think anything else.”

Andrew gripped the steering-wheel. “Do you think other people know?”

His twin rolled his eyes. “Seriously. I haven’t known you for that long, but I know you well. They wouldn’t have a clue.”

Andrew let go of the breath he was holding onto. 

“So…” Aaron leered. “Am I right?”

“No.” Andrew grumbled. 

Aaron only sneered and turned up the radio. 

The next day, Andrew was sent a video of Neil squirting apple juice into Kevin’s hair and telling him to shut up and stop bossing people around. Andrew had missed lunch in favour of phone-calling Betsy. He let himself grin—just a little bit—down at his phone. 

_thanks_ he texted back, before sliding his phone back into his pocket. Maybe Aaron knowing wouldn’t be so bad. 

*

_Nicky Finding Out About Neil and Andrew (And Neil Going Back To His Original Hair Colour)_

“Where is your jersey, Andrew?” Nicky snorted. “Neil’s isn’t exactly your size.”

“Neil has it.”

“Ha! Did you pick up the wrong ones at practise?”

Aaron looked at Andrew with a flat expression. Andrew shrugged. Ugh, _fuck_. He was really acting more and more like Neil every day. 

“His fits you a little better than yours does, doesn’t it?”

“Nicky,” Aaron drawled. “He has to fit goalie padding under that. Neil’s a striker and doesn’t have shit.”

“Has all the bruises because of that.” Andrew pushed his food around his bowl, glancing at the time. Was it too early to leave still? If he was meant to be picking Neil up in half an hour?

“How would you know?” Nicky chewed on a strawberry and talked with his mouth full. “Doesn’t he, like, hide away to change?”

Aaron covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god.”

“What happened?” Nicky sounded mildly alarmed at Aaron’s sudden dismay. 

“Nothing.” Aaron shook his head and turned to leave. “Nothing, Nicky.”

Nicky was saddened and looked to Andrew. “Did I do something?”

“Other than normal idiocy.” Andrew remarked. “No.”

“God, you’re both awful.” Nicky moaned. 

“Get rid of us, then!” Aaron yelled up the corridor. 

“No!” Nicky yelled back. “Who would be here to waste my time if I did?”

“Touché.” Andrew muttered, sliding off his stool, grabbing his keys off the counter. He decided he didn’t care if he was early. 

“Where’re you going?” Nicky asked. 

“Out with Neil.” Andrew pulled the jersey over his head to hang it on the hook by the door, pulling on a hoodie. It was also Neil’s. It was one of the nicer ones, though, one Stuart had bought him for Christmas. Andrew was pretty sure Neil wanted Stuart and Andrew to meet each other. Andrew respected Stuart on the basis of him being the murderer of Neil’s father alone. However, he had no idea what Stuart thought of him. His and Neil’s relationship seemed twisted and confusing. Then again, everything about Neil was twisted and confusing. 

“Not going to Eden’s, then?” 

“No.”

“Does Roland know?”

“Yep.”

“Will you pick us up after?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

“Great!” Nicky clapped his hands too loudly. “Say hi to Neil for me!” 

Andrew grunted and let the door slam shut. 

*

“Going to brush my teeth.” Neil said, halfway to the door as he wrangled on a shirt. 

“Put some pants on?” Andrew teased, throwing the denim shorts he’d left on Andrew’s bed at him. Neil flushed. Andrew couldn’t believe he was dating someone who wore _jorts_. Then again, it was hard to believe he was dating anyone at all. 

Neil struggled into his shorts and didn’t bother with the fly when darting down the hall to the bathroom with his toothbrush. He forgot to close the door, but Andrew wasn’t bothered to get up and close it. He would have been worried about Aaron and Katelyn making gross noises, but he was pretty sure he and Neil had made quite a scene themselves. Poor, poor Nicky. Not that Nicky had realised Neil and him were like, a thing. It should have been amusing, but Andrew wasn’t really surprised. 

Neil was taking an annoyingly long time. The tap had been cut off for long enough to make Andrew suspect Neil had slipped and cracked his head open on the sink, so he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and crossed his arms grumpily, shuffling down the hallway. He leaned against the doorway to watch Neil looking at himself in the mirror with an uncomfortable expression. 

Neil’s mirrors used to all have cardboard stuck to them. Andrew had helped him take that all down recently. Neil didn’t seem to be getting any more comfortable with his image, though. 

He glanced at Andrew when he appeared and his eyes darted to the floor. “Sorry.” He hand combed through his curls and tugged on his hair. 

“Time to do your roots again?” Andrew asked. 

Neil swallowed. “No.” He looked up. “Do you have a colour stripper?”

Andrew did. He used it infrequently, but if a dye wasn’t coming out, that was what he resorted to. “Yeah.” 

Neil wrapped his arms around his stomach. 

“You don’t have to tackle this right now, Neil. We’re still working on mirrors.”

“It doesn’t matter what colour my hair is. I still look like him.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.” Andrew grabbed his chin. “Neil.” 

Neil avoided looking at him until Andrew held his face with both hands. 

“You don’t look at him. I know what he looks like,” Andrew combed his fingers through Neil’s hair. “You do not look like him.”

Neil nodded. 

He sat on the edge of the bath and had his nose screwed up at the smell of the colour stripping chemical the entire time. He used the shower head to wash it out and towel dried it carefully, looking at the white towel for dye residue. There wasn’t any. There wouldn’t be any, ever again. 

Wet, his hair was a burgundy. Andrew knew his natural colour was a brassy auburn at the roots. It probably lost that brassiness when it grew out. 

“Well?” Andrew gestured to the mirror. 

Neil glanced at himself. He closed his eyes. Andrew reached out for his wrist. Slowly, Neil nodded. “It hasn’t changed anything.”

“Good.” Andrew leaned up and pressed a soft kiss on Neil’s lips. Neil whispered a small thank you. 

_”What?”_ Nicky shrieked, voice wobbling with the consumption of alcohol. Aaron and Nicky had both worked a shift at Eden’s whilst Andrew had been with Neil. Typically, Nicky was smashed. Andrew cursed and yanked himself back from Neil. He should have closed the fucking door. Nicky was gaping at his cousin like Andrew’d confessed to killing his mom, which wouldn’t have really surprised anyone at all. 

“Nicky,” Aaron leaned out the door. “What is it?”

“You two—“ Nicky’s jaw was on the floor and he was leering forward a little, unsteady with drunkenness. Neil was cowering a little: Andrew tried to stay between him and his cousin as best as he could. “Andrew, you’re _gay_?”

“Oh, jesus.” Andrew heard Aaron mutter. “Finally, he works it out.”

“Finally? _Finally?_ ” Nicky threw his arms into the air. “And here I was thinking that you were friends. Oh, I’m an idiot!” 

“Yeah.” Andrew agreed. “You are. Can you go now?”

“I’m too drunk for this.” Nicky slurred. “I need a shower. I need _answers_ , Andrew!”

“Fuck off.” Andrew said gently, pulling Neil out of the bathroom. “Be careful when showering.”

“Safe sex!” Nicky yelled before closing the door. “Rubber the dick before you thrust in the chick! Or the guy. Holy shit, Andrew’s _gay?”_

“Oh my god.” Neil muttered. 

Aaron’s bedroom door closed with a click, but Andrew heard Katelyn losing her shit inside, cackling. Andrew slammed his bedroom door closed and leaned against it, heels of his hands in his eye sockets. 

“Should probably take his advice.” Neil leaned his hands either side of Andrew’s head. Andrew looked up at him with a dry expression. 

“Don’t talk about my cousin when you’re proposing that I get you off, Josten. Gross.” 

“My bad.” Josten grinned. 

Andrew rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” He threaded fingers into wet hair. Neil chewed on his lip until Andrew kissed him gently to get him to stop. “Sleep now?”

Neil nodded. 

They fell asleep in separate beds, but with Andrew’s hand dangling off his mattress and Neil’s fingers curled through his, hanging on.

*  
 _The Foxes (The Nice Ones) Finding out_

“You know,” Dan said. “I wanted to make teammate-teammate relationships illegal. It would just make the team dynamic more toxic, y’know?”

“Look where that got you.” Renee said, dryly. 

Matt pinched his girlfriend’s cheek. “Allison and Seth _were_ pretty messy. They’re done for good now, right?”

Renee nodded. 

“Pretty calm finish to it all.” Dan murmured. “Suspiciously calm.”

Relationships baffled Neil. But, now he was in one, and it made all the sense in the world. He supposed it wouldn’t from the outside. 

Hanging out with just the upperclassmen that he liked was quite rare, but he didn’t hate it. They were in a diner: It looked identical to Andrew’s. They all looked the same. 

“You didn’t really need to, did you?” Matt nudged her. “We’re the only ones.”

Renee gave Neil a _look_. “Not exactly.”

“There’s one you don’t know about.” Neil slung his arm around his knee. He didn’t know why he felt so casual about it today. It hadn’t really ever been an issue. It felt like it should be, though. But none of them knew his story: None of them would understand what or how much he’d gone through and why that affected everything. 

“Two.” Renee corrected him. 

“What?” Dan sat forward. She narrowed her eyes. _”What?”_

“Allison’s moved on.” Renee tucked her hair behind her ear. 

“And I’ve found someone.” Neil shrugged.

Matt looked gobsmacked. _”Who?”_

“Guys!” Dan huffed. “Secrets are bad! Secrets are mean. _Please_ tell us. Please?”

“I don’t know if they’re comfortable with people knowing, yet.” Neil pulled up the other knee. A waitress would yap at him to take his shoes off the furniture soon. 

“I know for a fact that Allison’s wants to keep this on the down-low.”

“It can’t be Andrew or Seth or Aaron. Kevin?” Matt demanded. “Gross, no. Beau? Jack? Also gross. Neil? Are you with Allison?”

“I wouldn’t be able to reach, would I?” Neil poked Matt in the arm with a fork. “Come on. It’s not hard to guess who I’m with.”

“Neil, you barely know or talk to anyone.”

“Rude.” Neil had to smile at his teammates. _No. Friends._

“It can’t be Allison.” Dan whispered from behind her fingers. “She’s so tall!” 

“Dan.” Renee chided. 

“So it is!” Dan whooped. “Oh my _god_ —“

“It’s not.” Neil hid his face behind his hands. “Dan, it’s not.”

“I refuse to believe that!” She hit her fist against the table. “You said you’re with someone on the team. You’re both so sassy and—“

“Neil’s fashion sense is too abysmal for Allison to tolerate.” Renee said calmly. Neil scrunched up his nose at that, despite it being one-hundred percent true. Dan opened her mouth to fight it, and Renee leaned over to pinch her lips shut. “It’s me. I’m with Allison.”

“What—“ Neil blinked. “What?”

“Oh.” Matt said. Then he grinned his brilliant, brilliant grin. “Cool.” 

“ _Seriously?"_ Dan shrieked. “Neither of you thought to tell me that you’re gay?” 

“We’re figuring it out.” Renee said, calm as ever. Dan spluttered. “Dan. Stop yelling.”

“Shit. Sorry. Sorry! I’m just excited. My best friends are dating!” 

Renee hid her face behind her hands with embarrassment, but she was grinning too. “If you’re excited about me, you’re going to lose your shit over Neil.” 

_Thanks, Renee._ Just when Neil thought the attention was diverted off him. 

“It’s on the team right?” Matt demanded. “Holy shit, no. Sheena? _Sheena_?

If he denied it, that meant he’d be dating a guy, and thus he was gay, and further interrogation would continue. He _had_ to deny it: If they somehow let it slip that Neil was dating _Sheena_ then a chaotic mess would probably ensue. “No.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “Beau.”

“Nope.”

“Okay, but Jack’s always struck me as outwardly homophobic because he’s in denial. Right. Right?” Dan gestured wildly. Matt nodded like it made sense. 

“It’s not Jack.” Renee snorted from behind her hand. 

“Kevin?” Matt gaped and Dan retched in a fit of laughter. “God, _Kevin?”_

“Would rather not.” Neil remarked. 

“Seth!” Dan clapped. “They realised they’re both gay and that’s why they were always out-of-sorts and why they left each other so quietly!” 

“Not Seth.” 

“It can’t be someone on the team, then.” Matt challenged. “Aaron’s got Katelyn. You’ve conned us. There’s no one else.”

Neil looked at Renee, who looked somewhat apologetic. He was baffled. Was Andrew not a person? Did he not exist? Why was he considered undateable? 

“Does Andrew just—not exist?” 

“Andrew’s always been absolutely unattainable.” Dan flapped her hand. It stilled mid-air and her eyes widened. “Wait. What?”

Neil folded his hands carefully on the table. 

“You can’t be serious.” Matt said, careful. 

Neil arched an eyebrow. “Am I ever not?”

Neil was always blunt, straight to the point, asking exactly what was on his mind in order to satisfy the millions of questions buzzing around in his head. He knew he was allowed to do this: He knew Andrew didn’t mind. 

They both looked at him like his skin was becoming speckled with green patches. 

“What?” He demanded. 

“He’s serious.” Matt whispered, in awe. 

“How in fuck’s name did you snatch Andrew Minyard, of all people?” Dan looked mid-existential crisis. 

“Andrew’s human too, you know.” Renee said softly. 

“He just seems very—“

“Brittle.” Dan finished. “We know he’s been through a lot of shit.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s incapable of being in a relationship.” 

Neil understood where they were coming from. Most of the time Andrew’s expression was bleak, unforgiving, apathetic. He wasn’t exactly open about his antidepressants, but Neil knew he’d been weaning himself off for a little while before they’d known each other. Since Andrew had only spoken to Neil for two days after the hospitalisation, Neil’d had to relay the information to Betsy about what he wanted: No drugs. Just therapy. Calm. Quiet. Time. Space. Purpose. To know that Aaron, Nicky and Neil were safe. Maybe some ice-cream. That was all. 

No one knew as much as Neil did. No one who didn’t rotate in Andrew’s immediate circle, anyway. 

“Alright. Cool. Cool.” Dan held up her hands. “Snatch that, Neil. Do what you love.”

Matt winked at that. 

That seemed to be all either of them had to say, speechless with surprise or just not knowing what to say to the truth. 

Neil could deal with that. 

*

**PLEASE PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING**

**i, unfortunately, have had lots of experience in this area. this means that the piece of writing that follows this is detailed, dark and disturbing. this also means i know exactly what can happen if you’re not safe or okay and you read something triggering. i am URGING YOU: if you know yourself, Don’t Read. Don’t be tempted to lure yourself into a spiral by reading this, click away and forget about it, don’t even risk it.**

**this is a recount of Christmas Eve’s Eve, when Andrew self harmed and was hospitalised. when i say detailed, i mean his internal monologue, not the actual violence of it. please be gentle with yourself.**

**love, jemejem**

Andrew was feeling and not feeling simultaneously, and it was thrilling. 

Thrilling in the bad way. In the way that made your stomach roll, your breath hiccup in your throat so that you choked. Thrilling that didn’t leave the wake of adrenaline in its path, but a path of destruction and carnage. Andrew was unpredictable and dangerous at the best of times. When he was scared, he lost all consciousness in regards to collateral damage and couldn’t hear anyone but himself. 

Every step to the front door was heavy, and he could see cracks spidering out from under each foot placed gently onto the concrete path. The front door was unlocked. The television was on. So were the lights. 

Andrew disregarded anything else, including the two shadows that blurred around the kitchen bench, in favour of his bedroom door. His fingers were so _sweaty_ , fumbling for his door’s handle.

His room. A four walled haven and hell. A cage and a key. He couldn’t see beyond his feet, had hung down. Then his hands were clenching into fists, so he looked at those. Thick fingers, knobbly knuckles. An image of thinner, wiry fingers intertwining with his arose from nowhere, and he swept it aside. 

A distant thud was his bag: A distant voice was his cousin. Andrew only had eyes for the rug in the middle of the room, and how his fingers almost disappeared if he worked his palms into the fur enough. He was on his knees. He was on his side. It was happening so fast that he didn’t remember it, but he didn’t even remember how he’d gotten home. 

The nothingness _ached_. It throbbed, a constant echo to his pulse. It was begging Andrew to let it shrivel up and die. Cut it loose so it could wallow in its self-pity until it was a dead thing on the floor. But this nothingness was so strongly fixated within Andrew that the only release would be to kill himself. 

He longed for it. He never stopped entertaining the fact, under constant torment that those around him would benefit greatly from his death. That they’d given up caring for him, waiting for him to take his well overdue, permanent leave. 

He didn’t just want the satisfaction of relieving the world of him: He wanted it to _hurt_. He deserved to feel excruciating, excruciating pain. He yearned for it: He was desperate. He needed to put himself back in his place, to remind himself who—or what—owned him. He was an empty shell. He was an empty shell. He was an empty shell. 

_He didn’t want to be a fucking empty shell anymore._

And here was the other side: The side that felt too much. It was so restrained, in its tiny little prison. The anger and the hope and the relief and everything that Neil had lit up within him once more, tied down with the damp, suffocating blanket that was his depression. 

Still, it was too much. So, Andrew was at an impasse: Torn between wanting to let the nothingness finally consume him, and desperate to feel more than this endlessly hungering void that devoured, devoured, devoured. 

Suddenly, he was feeling. He was feeling Neil’s lips and gentle fingertips, saw the blaze of anger in his icy blue eyes and the sharp edge of his grin. He was feeling, and it was a double edged sword: He needed more and deserved none of it at the same time. 

He was curled in a all, as small as he could make himself. He was being crushed and stretched by all limbs: He was soaring and being suffocated at the same time. 

He made a pained sound but he could barely hear it over the sound of a beating heart. His own. His knife was held shakily, tip pointed straight into his bare forearm. When had this happened? When had he decided this? He never went about this so recklessly. He was always careful with every cut, a different mantra to chant about his worthlessness to mutter when he saw the blood bead on his skin. This was another monster entirely. 

He wanted to rip off his skin and bleed out, onto the floor. He wanted it to hurt so badly that he would beg himself to stop, that he would finally _regret._

_No. That’s not right._

Andrew grit his teeth, tracing old lines and making new ones and not caring. He didn’t care. He never cared. He couldn’t care. He wouldn’t care. He was bleeding from just below both elbows, mid-way along both forearms. 

_You regret not asking Neil before kissing him._

Andrew stopped. He did. He did regret that. That was true. 

_Put the knife down, Andrew._

Andrew’s face was wet with blood. It had to be blood. Andrew doesn’t remember the last time he cried, and his memory doesn’t forgive and forget. 

_”Andrew,”_ Neil was frowning. _”Do you want this?”_

_Yes._

Neil shook his head. 

Andrew curled in on himself again, holding the bloody knife to his chest and closing his eyes. It was too much. It was too, too much. Neil was too much. This was too much. 

Andrew was _done._

“Nicky,” He murmured. His voice cracked when he yelled. “Nicky!” 

_Another chance wasted…_ That voice would never stop its endless torment. He wasn’t given time to dwell on it though. He was already being pulled to his feet. 

“You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. Okay?”

_Okay_.


End file.
